Let Me Fall For You
by SadBeautifulTragic08
Summary: When I fall for you, will you fall, too? This heart is as breakable as you... Rating changed to M
1. Chapter 1

**I couldn't get it out of my head so for the very first time I'm introducing an OC that's a person of color, which makes me nervous because there's so much that can go wrong here. I hope I'll do him justice. I introduce to you - Chapter 1. **

**...**

It's a quiet night at the bar, at least for a Friday. Usually this place is packed, he knows because he frequents it at least once a week. In his booth he leans back, sips from his drink. There are few female patrons in the bar and except for one they are all much younger than him. It's a shame he thinks, because his heart is longing for company. Not for the physical kind, he isn't necessarily looking for sex. The one-night stands are in the past. Well, mostly. He's only human after all. Sometimes the occasion arises and he spends the night sinking into bed with a woman, just to take the edge off. But he's long grown tired of meaningless sex between practical strangers. The thing is - even if he'd be here to get laid, none of the twenty-somethings would catch his interest. He has never seen the appeal in sleeping with women much younger than him. Maybe because they remind him of his daughter. He has never been intimate with anyone much younger than himself but just the thought puts him off. He likes women not girls. As he's grown into a man his preferences changed. Crinkles in a woman's face draw him in like a good book. He loves how age leaves marks that tell a story, how with age comes life experience and wisdom.

It should be much easier to date at this stage of his life. He knows for sure what he wants in a partner. He is good looking. The rather lanky kid with a stutter had grown into a handsome guy and his parents apparently have passed on some very good genes because there is hardly a gray hair on his head. His daughter always says that it's a shame he wears a buzz cut but he thinks it suits him and it's easy enough to maintain along with the three-day stubble beard.

He draws attention to himself easily without trying, unfortunately it can be unwelcome. It had been rather shocking to learn that his daughter's friends had found him _hot _despite his age - or well, because of his age. And he imagines it has been very uncomfortable for Amelia, too. Jeez, half of her friends have grown up right before his eyes, from first graders into young women ready to go to uni. He made them cereal for breakfast, put in the Disney DVDs for slumber parties and took them on weekend trips to the beach in Brighton. There is no scenario whatsoever in which he could have pictured himself starting something with any of those girl or anyone their age, period.

He's been on plenty of dates within the past twelve years. Half of that time he had wanted to find someone but ultimately realized his heart hadn't been ready. It had been too soon to fully commit to someone. Too great had the fears been to lose that person. Now, many years later, with a mended heart it is tricky to find the right woman. Or maybe he's too picky, those shoes of Claire are hard to fill after all. Part of him has given up hope to find that special someone again. He is 45 with an adult daughter. They have only moved to New York two years ago for Amelia's college education. Being back in New York City might be a fresh start for him his daughter had said. Far away from the city and the house they had loved and lost in. The funny thing is that New York isn't so different from London after all. It's just as anonymous when it comes to meeting people - people translating to women. Of course there are females everywhere, it's just damned hard to find someone who

is single wants to date he finds remotely attractive beneath the surface of what meets the eye who doesn't see he's well off first and foremost - which is why he usually doesn't broadcast it to the world.

He isn't rich-rich, just well off. And he doesn't care about get rich quick schemes which is why he has left business behind and relocated. Sure, he's still working from here, but nowhere as many hours as he used to back in London. He takes the occasional trip across the Atlantic for important meetings but for the most part he's left things in his sister-in-law's hands. Life has quieted down for him. He takes his time now, has created oases where his focus is life itself, not work. Since his move he has read more books than in the last decade in the UK. He takes walks now, takes in the trees, the people. He's learning to cook and is doing a decent job of it, too. Not that he hasn't cooked in London, he has. But it had been simple dinners for Amelia, things that he could prepare and freeze so it would serve them several evenings.

One of the younger things is looking over at him. She's probably between twenty-five and thirty and while she's pretty, blonde, petite, easy on the eyes, he's not at all interested. He holds her gaze for a few seconds then lets his eyes sink back into the dark golden liquid inside his glass. When the door opens and someone steps in a chill runs through the entire place. It's October and although it's only nine-something in the evening it's freaking cold outside. He only gets a short glimpse at the new customer as she wiggles out of her coat and sits down on a stool right at the bar. Instantly he is a lot less bored.

…

Olivia is headed straight to the bar without even scanning her surroundings. It's been one hell of a night and she isn't in the mood for anything but a stiff drink right now. Doffing her black coat she reveals a sleeveless black dress with a round neckline. The asymmetric hem ends a few inches below the knee. The little black number accentuates all the right parts of her body and while she loves the dress she could kick herself for spending a fortune on it for someone as undeserving as Clint Hannigan.

„Bad night?" The bartender asks. Her face is probably all the telltale he needs. Also, in Olivia's experience, they are excellent at reading their customers.

Scoffing Olivia takes her place at the bar, closest to the drinks she could possibly be - which is exactly where she wants to be. „That obvious, hm?"

The guy smirks at her and shrugs. „What will it be?"

„Gin and Tonic," she decides, folding her arms on the bar top. „Make it strong."

„You got a preference?"

Her gaze wanders and she sees the wide range of spirits behind the bar but she's indecisive tonight. „Surprise me." He's probably going to serve her the priciest gin and she really doesn't care.

The guy turns and seems to mull over what to serve her before he reaches for the bottle of Gin Mare. Olivia watches him fix her drink. Three ice cubes, a healthy dash of gin, tonic water. He tops it off with bitters and fresh rosemary before he slides the drink towards her.

„Thanks," she mutters and instantly takes a sip, reveling in the taste. She really needs it to take the edge off because she _still _feels like an idiot.

Olivia is a walking cliché tonight. She knows this and God, it's pitiful. Third supposed date, dressed to the nines. If anybody would care to take a glimpse at what's beneath the dress they'd find silken underwear and a cleanly shaven private area that wouldn't have been all that private tonight. She had very much anticipated to get laid. Only the guy had stood her up.

For forty minutes she was sat at a fancy restaurant in the West Village. Alone. At a table for two. At first Olivia had figured that Clint was late. Traffic had been a nightmare on her way to the sushi restaurant, it wouldn't have been any wonder if her date hadn't made it on time. But ten minutes turned to twenty, twenty to thirty and Olivia had been looking and feeling more pathetic with that very expensive bottle of red wine she had ordered, wishing she wouldn't have told the waiter she was still waiting for someone as he brought over the menu. Eventually she had stopped scanning her phone every two minutes and dialed Clint who had picked up on the fifth ring, seemingly surprised to hear from her only to _‚Ahhh shit, that was today?'_ her and coming up with excuses of a last minute meeting he had been called into and apologizing that dinner had totally slipped his mind.

Olivia knows something coming up all too well. But she has never once not canceled, even if it had been a last minute thing. Clint had been nice enough. Forty-nine, successful, well-mannered. His ego is two sizes too big but Olivia had figured that there is probably more to him than that, so she had given things a chance. They hadn't been a perfect match, not by far, but if she wants to find love she needs to compromise, she had told herself when it came to deciding if she wanted to see him again. And she had compromised. But Olivia Benson refuses to be someone forgettable.

Screw him. He hadn't been worth all the effort and the expensive dress. He should have been there to woe her, make her feel sexy and desirable in that black number and those take-me-heels. Instead she sits here drowning in self-pity, once again doubting that she'll ever find a man. Not that she necessarily needs one. She's doing just fine by herself, right? Right. She is successful in her own right, holds her own in a world dominated by men. Screw Clint and screw men in general. She'll just stay single for now and enjoy life without looking for _real love_ around every corner. Maybe happy endings aren't made for her.

Frustratedly she takes a nip of her drink again. _Don't Stop Believing _fades out and suddenly Olivia feels incredibly tired.

…

There are two options here. Either the brunette at the bar is looking for a hook-up dressed like this - which he doubts because she doesn't have a wandering eye; she keeps to herself, seemingly very invested in her drink - or she's having a very bad night.

Although he had only gotten a rather short glance at the woman from across the room he can tell she is good looking _and_ most likely in her forties, which instantly makes her a lot more interesting than all the other women in this place combined. From the back he sees how her hair ends are lightly curled, dancing around her shoulders. For a short while he tries to estimate how likely the stranger with the see-through drink is going to brush him off, but honestly, while he might not have anything to win, he sure has nothing to lose either by going over and talk to her. Also he wants another drink, it makes perfect sense to go over there.

As he reaches the bar he makes sure to leave a free barstool between himself and the woman. She doesn't pay him any attention as he orders Whiskey neat, only sips from her drink that she's three-quarters into. As he wants to speak up he realizes that there are no words that won't come across like a cheap pick-up line. Glancing over he sees the woman's profile and he's right, she is clearly beautiful and even more clearly not interested in any hook-ups because she isn't so much as looking at him. Well, good for him that he isn't looking to hook up, either.

As the bearded man behind the bar is fixing his drink he realizes that by the time he'll be served his window of opportunity will close. Pursing his lips he leans a little more towards the brunette. „May I ask what you're having?" He knows it's most likely a Gin & Tonic but he can't very well ask if she cares for company without sounding like a creep.

„This the part where you're gonna ask if you can buy me a drink?" The brunette cocks her head and he allows himself to take her in despite the challenge in her voice. She's tall. Slim with the right amount of curves in all the places he likes them. Her make-up seems heavy in the light but he bets she's just as beautiful underneath the layers of foundation and powder. Her eyes are a dark brown and defiant. They seem oddly familiar.

„I guess you wouldn't believe it if I told you I have no intention to pick you up, eh?"

This seems to throw her off because her brows knit in what he thinks is confusion and her nose crinkles a little. Then she recovers, gives him a once-over and scoffs. „Does that usually work? You pretend to be the perfect gentleman who isn't looking for an easy lay but a few drinks in and at the end of the night you still manage to charm some naive woman's pants off of her?"

„Wow, you're really in a sour mood," he notices. Other men would probably walk away and consider her a bitch. He on the other hand truly has no hidden motives so her accusation doesn't hurt one bit. „Quite honestly, I'm sure I'd find takers if that was my intention. Seriously, though…," he takes her in once more. „I'm not looking for more than a conversation."

„Right," she drawls incredulously, making him wonder what her experiences with men are if she can't even trust that someone doesn't talk to her without trying to get into her pants.

„I don't even wanna buy you a drink. Promise."

Now she almost looks amused as she shakes her head and takes a drink before her eyes find him once more. „So you're cheap?"

He laughs and slides onto the barstool as the bartender puts his drink in front of him. „Now, I can't win, can I?"

The brunette bites her bottom lip for just a moment and rolls those deep, earthy browns. There is something hauntingly beautiful in her eyes and for some reason he can't shake that they remind him of something or someone. „Not really," she admits and he likes that she's at least honest.

…

Olivia doesn't need to look up to feel that the guy's eyes are on her even though he's not trying to be obvious. She is hyper aware of these things, especially in this kind of setting. She's really not in the mood for any games tonight.

He orders a drink, Whisky neat, and thankfully he leaves a decent amount of space between them. Although he glances over at her from time to time she deems the situation safe. The guy is most likely harmless but still she refuses to look at him, not wanting to give him any ideas. She's definitely not available for a night with him or anyone, no matter how ready she had been as she left her apartment.

„May I ask what you're having?" The british accent isn't thick but it's definitely there. Olivia senses how he leans in before she sees it and even that little makes her defensive. When she casts her eyes up at the guy she sees dark, kind eyes trained at her, not at all what she had expected. But she wouldn't be Olivia Benson if her guard wouldn't be up anyway.

„This the part where you're gonna ask if you can buy me a drink?" The guy shows perfect teeth as he speaks. His skin is a warm brown with red-orange undertones. As he moves ever so subtly the overhead light dances in golden hues on his face, reminding Olivia of richly colored leaves in the fall. Although he's not Olivia's type she has got to admit that the person looking back at her is a handsome man, probably in his mid- to late forties.

„I guess you wouldn't believe it if I told you I have no intention to pick you up, eh?"

Although he sounds sincere and his words give her a brief pause, Olivia isn't dense. Her eyes rake over the guy once, trying to figure him out before her mouth is quick with an answer. „Does that usually work? You pretend to be the perfect gentleman who isn't looking for an easy lay but a few drinks in and at the end of the night you still manage to charm some naive woman's pants off of her?" Yes, she sounds bitter. But isn't this exactly what his game his? Being super smooth and charming? Everything comes at a cost, Olivia knows that much. Not even that accent makes up for this little fact.

„Wow, you're really in a sour mood. Quite honestly, I'm sure I'd find takers if that was my what I had in mind. Seriously, though…" He pauses and the corners of his mouth lift. The smile Olivia sees is dazzling, drawing her in. „I'm not looking for more than a conversation."

The stranger sounds genuine and she finds it alarming that she can't shake the feeling that he's not looking for something she's not willing to give tonight. But she's not going to show him that and acts like she doesn't buy it.

„Right."

„I don't even wanna buy you a drink. Promise." There's that smile again and Olivia almost blushes at his intense gaze. She needs to focus on something else so she shakes her head and distracts herself with her drink for moment.

The wall she's built around her crumbles a little and she offers a small smile. „So you're cheap?" She knows that this might count as flirting - which is definitely as far as this is going to go.

The laugh he responds with is a deep rumble that melts Olivia's insides a little. „Now, I can't win, can I?"

„Not really." There's nothing to win with her, no matter how charming he is, no matter how hard he'll try in the course of the evening.

„Well, may I at least ask for you name?" She wants to tell him no but decides that it can't hurt if he knows it.

„It's Olivia," she offers and the second it's out the guy looks like he was just struck by lightening.

….

„It's Olivia."

The scales fall from his eyes as her name scatters between them. It's like a puzzle is put together right in front of him. Suddenly he sees a young girl, olive complexion, sprawled out on a brown sofa, a bottle of cheep beer in her hand. He sees her outside on a playground, sitting on a swing with one of her closest friends, taking a pull from a spliff he's rolled. He sees her dancing drunk, letting loose, laughing hard with a bottle of tequila hugged to her chest the night after their finals. He sees her standing proud to accept her diploma from the end of the line because she's a B and he's a W.

„Olivia Benson?"

„What? How… do I know you?" She stares at him like she has seen a ghost and clearly he isn't recognizing him the way he hadn't recognized her. It's been over twenty years after all.

„It's Ambrose. Ambrose Williams?" Suddenly recognition is washing over her face.

„No!"

He laughs, unable to quite believe it. All these years and he meets someone he went to Sienna with in this big city that's still so foreign to him after two years of living in it. Without even looking he has finally found something familiar. „In the flesh," he offers and widens his arms to present himself on a silver platter.

„How… oh my God, is that really you? Stop kidding." She's clapping both hands over her mouth and nose, shaking her head, all the while staring at his face.

Ambrose wonders how he could not recognize her the moment she had stepped into the bar. He can see it so clearly now, all the features, the way she crinkled her nose earlier, the shape of her eyes, her voice with those golden undertones that remind him of thick honey. Olivia looks completely different and yet so much like her twenty-year old self.

„So now can I buy you a drink?"

…


	2. Chapter 2

**Guys, thank you so much for the reviews so far. I have a love for OC's as well and my shipper heart has kind of let Elliot go a little bit. To answer one question of a guest reviewer: No, they are not 4 years apart. I believe I have only mentioned Ambrose's age - and Clint's (as 49 years old) so I think you thought I meant Liv with 49 years old when I haven't disclosed her age. **

**To give a little background - this plays around Season 15 except William Lewis never happened. So here goes Chapter 2. **

**...**

Minutes later they sit in a booth, both of them a drink in front of them. Olivia can't take her eyes off of Ambrose, realizing that while he has changed a lot and she never would have recognized him the college boy is still there. Olivia sees it in the way he smiles and holds her eye, something he has always expertly done. Even in a room full of people Ambrose hadhad the gift to make someone feel like they were the only person there, had managed to make them feel important to him. She wonders what had happened in his life after their college days, remembering he used to have a girlfriend who went to college somewhere out of state. Massachusetts? Pennsylvania? No matter where, Olivia mainly remembers one thing about Ambrose: he had been madly in love with his girlfriend. Loyal to a fault, not wavering in his responsibility towards the lucky woman he had been in love with. Sometime in their third or fourth semester two handful of people had started to play truth or dare. Every single person had been more than a little intoxicated at that point and as these things had progressed back in the day they had ended up playing silly games. While the game had started out innocent enough people had soon gotten more bold. Eventually when it had been Ambrose's turn and he had picked dare some other guy had dared him to french kiss one of the girls in the room. Ambrose had refused in an instant. Even when they had called him a wuss and told him ‚what the lady doesn't know won't hurt the her.' and that relationships _never _survive the college days he hadn't budged to do what they had expected.

Olivia revels in those memories until Ambrose speaks up, his words taking her back to the here and now.

„So, how have you been? You look good." She can tell he's sincere in his joy to see her after all this time and so is she. Over the years Olivia had lost contact to everyone she used to know from college, which makes this a wonderful surprise.

„Thank you, so do you. And I've been good. I mean, I can't complain. And you? Do you actually live here?"

„For the past two years actually. What do you do for a living?"

„I'm with the NYPD, Special Victims, just took my Seargeant's exam," she explains, not really wanting to get into her job too much. „And you? You had plans with your girlfriend, how'd that go?"

„Oh, yes. It went well," he says and explains how soon after college they had decided to start a family. „We relocated to London after Amelia was born which is where Claire's father had a branch office. We were young parents, she got offered a great position within the company - it was a no brainer. I started working there too."

„Hence the accent," she beams. „Which is very nice by the way."

„Hence the accent," he nods. „And I hear that a lot. It's funny because back in the UK people always say how I still have such a strong American accent while here everyone thinks I could pass as a Brit."

„So… you and Claire… that didn't last?" Olivia asks carefully, because otherwise he probably wouldn't try and wrap up random women at the bar in conversation. There is a clear shift in his eyes before he speaks.

„No, that didn't last unfortunately." It's not entirely a lie. They are no longer together - not because they have broken up but what does that matter? Claire is no longer in his life, their time together had ended when cancer had taken her away from him and their daughter all those years ago. He rather not make any of it a subject of discussion because it will never not hurt. Whenever he talks about losing Claire he goes to a rather dark place, sometimes for hours, sometimes for weeks. Claire had undoubtedly been the love of his life, the person who had fought her own parents to be with him, never taking any of their bigotry and prejudice towards him when he had known from experience how easy it could be for people to steer clear of him instead. Ambrose hadn't been what Claire's parents had expected from a boyfriend. They hadn't cared to get to know him before judging him - and they had judged on the color of his skin rather than his character or how he had sincerely loved their daughter. His white girlfriend had stuck up for her black boyfriend, ready to fight the entire world for him at a time when interracial relationships made people do a double take. Although not all that much has changed. These things will always be responsible for turned heads. There will always be some kind of stigmata attached, he fears.

„What about you, though? Did you just come from a date?" He is curious why she seemed to be in such a sour mood earlier at the bar.

„Haha," she fake-laughs dryly and shakes her head, bringing her tongue to the top of her lip. „I was supposed to be on a date as we speak. Turns out he stood me up. Apparently I'm very forgettable."

Ambrose's face contorts as he hisses a little through his teeth. „First date?"

„Third."

„Ouch."

„Yes," she agrees. „So I'm sorry if you caught me in a bit of a bitter streak there. I'm not usually… although…."

„I get it, it's probably not easy to be hit on by random guys."

„Except you didn't hit on me."

„Of course not," Ambrose grins and lowers his gaze a little. In retrospect the entire encounter at the bar is a little uncomfortable for him now. He had definitely not started to talk to her to take her home and sleep with her but he had made a move nonetheless and they both know it. If it would have ended with an easy flirt or a clear rebuff makes no difference when he looks at that little fact.

„That's good because I'm really tired of dating and…," she scoffs, picking up her glass. „Men in general. At this point I think I should just stay single and not bother anymore."

„That guy clearly is an idiot. And he's missing out big time. Trust me, you're a view."

„You're sweet to say that to make me feel better. I'm just not sure it's helping," she says and wraps her lips around her highball glass, taking a sip of her gin and tonic.

„I'm not saying it to make you feel better, it's just a matter of fact." Clearly Olivia has put a lot of thought into her outfit choice and make-up. She wanted to look nice for someone and whoever that guy who stood her up is, he isn't deserving of any of that effort and sight. Even though Ambrose hadn't engaged in a serious relationship after Claire's death, he certainly has never made any woman he went out with feel like crap. He had made an effort, even when he had noticed right away that things weren't going to work out. It's the least any person deserves.

„Well, still. Thank you," she says sincerely and takes another drink.

„Do you have children?"

„No, I don't. I'd love to have kids, though. Funnily that's not as easy as one might think. As a woman turns out you're kind of screwed when you don't find someone who's willing to have them with you." The gin is getting to her, that much is for sure because otherwise Olivia would not talk about any of this. But, she remembers, this is Ambrose and the Ambrose she remembers had always been a good listener and right now she feels quite miserable. „I'm sorry. I shouldn't… it's complicated. But no, I don't have kids. How's London? I mean, don't they say it's always raining?"

What a smooth change of subject, Ambrose thinks and chuckles. Obviously the lack of kids is not something Olivia wants to discuss - which he understands. Who wants to talk about the things they want but can't have? The weather however, that's always suitable to talk about. „Oh well, sometimes it's gray skies and rain but we do know fairly nice weather over there, too."

„Did you like it there?"

„Yeah. It's… it's home. Kind of. It's where Amelia grew up it's… we had good times there. But she wanted to study here, see more of her grandparents - I can't blame her. She always loved it here, too."

„Why'd you go? I mean, if you like London then why did you come here?" It's a loaded question he simply can't answer. There are too many admissions in _because my daughter is the only thing I have got anymore._ He loves London but there's nothing holding him there. As foreign as New York still feels after two years, at least he gets to see Amelia regularly. It's been just them for such a long time that they have grown strangely dependent on each other. Ambrose knows they are closer than most fathers and daughter's are. They can talk about everything and anything and while he prides himself on that he also knows that it's a little strange when she wants to know details about how a date has gone or she tells him about hers. Also they are brutally honest with each other.

„I thought a change of scenery would be nice and my Mom's getting older now - I get to visit more often." Ambrose fidgets, scoots a little towards the table before he settles back against the back rest of the booth.

„Wow, you really sound like you can't stand this city," she laughs and teases.

„Is it that obvious?"

„Well, trust me this is much better than…. whatever you got over there," she teases. „New York is great, you just gotta see it."

„Oh, I'm seeing it alright. It's not bad it's just… it doesn't feel like home, either." Amelia hadn't asked him to come to the US with her without motive. He has fully accepted Claire's death but at the same time he had held on to things in London. To the house, a lot of his late wife's personal belongings. He hadn't truly been living there, he hadn't thrived in years. But he doesn't exactly thrive here either. Sure, he's going out, he's trying to meet people, but it feels like it's more for Amelia than himself most of the time. Of course he feels lonely, he'd like some company every now and then. Sometimes he even thinks he wants something real again. To fall in love - because he can hardly remember how it feels exactly. But right behind the loneliness and longing there is fear. Fear of loss, fear of not doing an other lover justice, feeling like he can't love enough, not as much as is deserved.

„I understand that. I probably would feel out of place anywhere else." Haphazardly she pushes a strand of brown thick hair behind her ear and braces on her elbow. „Do they actually serve food here?" The words are out before she has even thought about them. All she knows is that she's hungry because she has skipped lunch today. With their caseload lately she rarely gets around to eating unless someone puts food in front of her and actively tells her to eat.

„Nah. I think they've got peanuts and tortilla chips but nothing solid." He remembers that she had been screwed out of dinner so it makes sense that she's hungry. „Do you wanna head out of here, go somewhere else?" There are plenty of places around that will still serve them.

„Tortilla chips sound great, actually," she decides after bobbing her head left and right a few times. There's alcohol here and truthfully, the guy at the bar knows how to make a great gin and tonic. Also this feels kind of cozy. Good drinks, good company. It makes her not want tomove.

„Alright," Ambrose agrees and before she can protest he's on his way over to the bar. She looks after him, sees the way he moves almost majestically. He's tall, she thinks. Tall and broad-shouldered. She hadn't really taken notice before. In college Ambrose hadn't been that well-built or else Olivia would have noticed. Most likely that body is a masterpiece beneath that dark blue shirt. When her gaze travels further downwards by the time Ambrose reaches the bar and settles on his ass Olivia gives herself a pause.

_Wait. Did I just…?_

Olivia exhales heavily. She either has had a little too much to drink, or, which is more likely it, too little. It has definitely been a little too long since she's seen a guy sans clothes so it is only natural that her mind goes there in the presence of a fairly attractive man, right?

Also her brain is still very much focused on the little fact that she was supposed to get laid tonight. Something that obviously is not going to happen after Clint had stood her up but it's not like she can just snap her fingers and make it all go away. Some thoughts and expectations can't be un-thought and un-expected. Son of a bitch. But, and it's a big but, it's Ambrose and his ass is completely off limits for several good reason she isn't willing to think of just now. What she wants however is more gin.

Swiftly Olivia drowns her shallow sorrows in alcohol, draining her second drink for the night. The third is officially going to be the one she's entering dangerous territory with seeing how she's indulged in half a bottle of wine already. Within three drinks as strong as these she likely goes from perfectly clear-headed to legitimately thinking she's superwoman. When she glances over at the bar she sees Ambrose watching her and motion if she wants another drink. Maybe she shouldn't but still she nods. Olivia trusts that he's more of a gentleman than she is going to be a perfectly respectable woman tonight with all the booze. But for good measure she sends out a silent prayer that she is going to behave and not come on, under no circumstances whatsoever come on to her former friend from college. That's not the kind of impression she wants to leave him with of her at the end of the night.

Ambrose flashes her a smile from the other end of the room and she smiles back as she plays with the highball glass that now only has a twig or rosemary and remnants of ice in it. There's something about him that Olivia can't quite put her finger on. He's in a good mood but something seems to linger underneath. The man is a bit of a mystery to her. Wonderment if he had actually hit or not hit on her earlier at the bar is likely going to keep her awake tonight. Wouldn't that be just strange? If Ambrose of all people had made his move on her? But that doesn't matter, she tells herself. Not in the least. She wouldn't have gotten involved with him even if they hadn't realized they know each other. Drinks were what she had wanted. Not sex with a stranger who's not such a stranger after all.

…

She dips the triangle-shaped chip in hot salsa sauce, making sure to get plenty on and pops the entire thing in her mouth. It's a mix of salty and spicy heaven she feels spreading on her tongue. There's an audible crunch when she chews. Ambrose brought back hot salsa and jalapeño cheese dip which makes him Olivia's personal hero tonight because she loves cheese and even more than that she loves spicy.

„Can I ask a question about your job?"

„Uh-huh," she agrees while still engrossed in her snack. „Sure."

„You said you work Special Victims? Is that sex crimes?"

„Uh-hm. But we prefer sexually based crimes, sexually motivated crimes… basically anything over just _sex crimes,_" comes her explanation.

„Right, right. Sorry, I didn't know there's a specific term for it."

„That's alright, I guess most people don't. It's not something anyone really wants to grapple with if they don't have to."

„I guess," he admits. „I didn't really know then that you wanted to be police." They have had many conversations back then. They hadn't been best friends but even now, looking back, Ambrose would say they had been pretty close.

„You ended up going into business," she says since it's also a far cry from psychology because she is feeling defensive. Olivia hates when she feels like people expect her to vindicate herself. So she hadn't told people she was aiming to be a cop and work with victims of sexual assault. She would have had to open a whole can of worms to explain this one. So she simply hadn't shared this little tidbit and made people think she wanted to dive deeper into psychology which hadn't even been a lie. The psychology of perpetrators, victims and the trauma resulting from these crimes are a big part of her job.

Ambrose's brows arch slightly as he realizes Olivia takes the question personal. He doesn't mean to attack, he is genuinely curious about her job and how she had chosen it is what she wanted. Maybe Olivia needs some of his background first, so he nods at her.

„I did. Back then it… it didn't feel like I had much of a choice, you know? I went back home and nobody would hire me despite my degree so I just took a job at a bookstore. Claire and I got married, we had Amelia shortly after and then she got this great opportunity from her Dad to go to London. Eventually I started working at the office, too. It was just how things progressed, I never really thought about it because we had it good. We had steady jobs, we had an income and Claire was sure to work her way up."

„But did it make you happy?"

He thinks about this and smiles a little. „I wasn't unhappy so…"

„It's a far cry from psychology though, isn't it?"

„Yeah but I kind of like crunching numbers and going in for the chase to make a good deal happen. It wasn't the dream but it's good."

Olivia casts a wry smile across the table. She received without asking so now she figures it's her turn to give something. „Something happened to someone close to me and I always thought… she should have been believed and there should have been justice for what was done to her. But that's awfully hard to explain why that would have made such an impact on me. So I figured I didn't have to go into it with people, you know? I didn't even know if things would work out with the Academy, I was told they weren't too big on accepting women as easily as men. I had no idea if this was true but- it felt like a vulnerable position to be in, wanting to become a detective."

„So does it make you happy?"

For a moment Olivia shifts uncomfortably, her eyes darting downwards as she thinks about how to answer. „I couldn't imagine doing anything else." When she drags her gaze back up to meet Ambrose's she sees him looking back at her sympathetically and really, it's crazy how the kindness in his eyes is making her insides clench.

„I'm sorry that was a stupid question, wasn't it?"

„No, it wasn't. It's just that what I do is so layered and debilitating and often it's sheer horrible. But at the end of the day - well, at the end of most days at least, getting justice for survivors makes amends for all the bad stuff I see and hear about."

As if to take the heaviness of the conversation away Olivia takes another chip and pops it in her mouth. Inside she feels warm and content because she is pleasantly buzzed. Not drunk but far from sober. Briefly her thoughts go back to Clint, wondering if he even feels remotely sorry or if him being a no-show had been deliberate. It shouldn't matter, Olivia thinks. It's done and probably for the better. Clint and her - that wouldn't have worked out. Not for long. His ego had been way too big, he couldn't have dealt with the job coming first when shit hit the fan at work. And it hit the fan quite frequently with them being a small squad with few detectives. This, Olivia figures, is much better. Ambrose is good company. The drinks are good drinks. And if it's just her tonight then that's okay, because she's used to it. It's not even sad anymore but rather… dare she say amusing?

…

They talk for almost another hour before weariness kicks in. Three gin and tonics and quite a few good laughs in Olivia decides to call it a night. Proudly she realizes that she's been a good girl. There has been no innuendo coming from her at all which says a lot about her self-control after the amount of alcohol she has consumed. Because it tends to make her chatty. And easy. But luckily, as it stands, she won't have to wake up tomorrow morning and worry that she has made an idiot of herself in front of Ambrose.

„Well, this was nice but I really have to head home now or else I'm going to fall asleep en route to my place and I doubt the cabbie would appreciate it."

„Right. It's gotten late," Ambrose agrees. Even in the dimness of the room he can see the pink of Olivia's cheeks. „Would it be acceptable if I asked for you number?" A boyish smile creeps onto his face and he watches as she throws her head back a little as she laughs.

„That's not you hitting on me, is it?"

„Ouch. Do I really not have a chance?" It's all in good fun. They are both being a little playful but there's nothing serious about what they are doing.

„Sorry."

„You were being quite serious about given up men then, hm?" Again she laughs and it's loud and infectious and filled with intoxication. It reminds him of their days at Siena. He can still see her in her mind, laughing, drinking, dancing. When he looks at her there's all of it, all of them intertwined and for a moment his heart aches because their friendship hadn't lasted. He can't even say why they had lost touch. There had been a few phone calls back and forth between New York and his hometown near Boston. Until there hadn't been. Maybe they had both gotten busy with other things. Olivia had obviously chosen to enroll in the police academy while he had had a baby on the way.

„I guess we'll have to see about that," she says and goes through her purse. She opens her contacts before she slides her phone across the table. „Type in your number."

„Ah, playing it safe, I see. The whole ‚Don't call me, I'll call you', innit?"

He lays the British accent on thick when he says _innit_ and it does something to Olivia it certainly shouldn't as her heart skips towards him. It is _sexy_. And she shouldn't consider anything about this man sexy, not even the accent. Dammit. It's the drinks, she tells herself. They make her a weak, needy woman. Which is exactly why she needs to get home.

„Exactly," she grins but she knows she is going to call him. Ambrose types his number into phone and gives the device back. „Thanks."

„I know this is what guys always say at the end of a date but I'm going to say it even though this is certainly not a date: I'd really like to see you again." Tonight he has enjoyed himself for the first time in a long time. It hasn't felt like pointless conversation but an interesting exchange. And Ambrose thinks Olivia has liked catching up, too.

„I'd actually like that," the brunette offers. „I'll get in touch. Promise."

„Great. So um… shall we pick up the tab?"

„Sounds good," Olivia agrees. They both slide out of their booth and make their way over to the bar. A few minutes later they are outside. It's a cold but starry night and Olivia wraps her arms around herself for warmth as she gazes down the street, hoping for a cab to pass by.

„So, this was really nice," she says eventually.

„It was. Good to catch up after all this time."

„Do you live close by?"

„Yeah, on Charles Street. It's just a few blocks."

So he's in the West Village. Interesting.

„It's not too bad. I have a bit of a front garden where I live which is rare in the city, I suppose."

„You bet it is. Sounds nice."

„Amelia liked it so…"

In the distance Olivia sees a taxi and steps closer to the street, raising her hand.

„So you let her pick, hm?"

„Let's say I took her opinion into _serious_ consideration," he gives back sheepishly. He just got busted though and he knows that she knows it.

The cab rolls closer and then stops on the side of the road.

„Well… have a safe trip home, Olivia."

„You too," she smiles with flushed cheeks from alcohol and cold. „I'll call," she promises once more as she slides into the back of the car.

„Okay. Bye."

„Bye." She waves her hand briefly before she closes the door and leans back. All of a sudden she feels lightheaded. The cab driver pulls back onto the street and Olivia gives him her address. When she turns around to look out the rear window she doesn't see Ambrose anywhere and sighs softly before she shakes her head. It's funny that he's had her feeling a little antsy. It is even funnier that they met again under such strange circumstances.

A few blocks down the street Olivia gets out her phone. Biting her lip she opens her messenger and types slowly, careful not to make any spelling mistakes despite her inebriation. ‚_Thank you for making a terrible night a lot better. Also now you got my number, just in case you're still worried I won't ever call. O.'_

_…_

Back inside the bar, nursing one last drink, Ambrose's phone beeps with an incoming text message. He smiles, thinking it's undoubtedly Amelia. Except it shows an unknown number. He opens the text and chuckles, grinning to himself. Quickly he adds Olivia's number to his contacts before weighing his options. He could reply. Or he could just leave it be for tonight. He drains his glass quickly, then types.

_‚I wasn't worried. I know where you work, I would have found you. Have a good night.'_

…


	3. Chapter 3

Olivia's phone rings when she and Nick are on the way back to the precinct after following up on a few loose ends concerning their case. When the name _Ambrose_ flashes on the display the brunette detective can't help but smile. It has been a while since she had last heard from him, three or four weeks probably. Since their reunion at the bar they have met once for coffee, however, Ambrose had been a little pressured for time, seeing he needed to catch a flight to London later that day. Since then it's been a few messages sent back and forth, a few pictures of London sights like Big Ben and Tower Bridge he has sent captioned _‚tell me again why you believe NYC is better than this view'. _Olivia had replied that she'd show him when he gets back. It had been a fairly easy banter between them.

„Hey stranger," she greets him as she picks up. Out of her periphery she can see her driving partner looking at her curiously. She'd like nothing better than tell him to keep his eyes focused on the road but she can't very well do that while on the phone with Ambrose.

„Hello there. How's it going?" The accent is thick and she wonders how long he's been in the UK in the meantime.

„All good, how about you? Are you back here in the motherland?" She chuckles with her own joke and can virtually feel Nick giving her the side-eye.

„Great, great. Look, I was wondering since it's the weekend coming up, if you'd like to get together?" The next bit comes as an afterthought. „If you don't already have plans."

This coming weekend she isn't catching, so she's definitely free. And she certainly doesn't have any plans that couldn't wait - namely cleaning. She has a few errands to run but that will hardly keep her busy all weekend.

„I don't. What do you have in mind?"

„Well," he says thickly, drawing the word out. „I believe you wanted to show me a good time in the New York City."

„You're really gonna nail me down on that one, aren't you? And _the _New York City?" She laughs. „Is that a British thing? Like… do you say _‚the London'_?"

„May I just remind you that I'm just as much of an American as you are?"

With that she snorts into the phone. „You wish, London Boy."

„Oh, that's just fantastic, now that's what I call erasure," he jokes, knowing she means none of it. „Anyway, what do you have in mind?"

„I will have to think on that for a bit but why don't you just let me get back to you tomorrow, I'll figure it out."

„Sounds great. So until tomorrow then? You're gonna call me?"

„Yeah. Unless I'll be a stranger like you. I guess we'll see," she grins into the phone and turns her head away. „Bye."

„Bye, Olivia."

In her head she counts backwards and as if on cue hears Nicks voice when she reaches one.

„So, hot date?"

„You think I'd tell you if it was?" They look at each other and her partner seems a little amused, way too smug. „It's not a date. He's just a friend I reconnected with recently," Olivia finally offers. It's the truth and nothing but the truth. There is nothing hot or date-like that has transpired between Ambrose and her.

„Mighty flirtatious for it just being an old friend," he points out easily. „So, I take it things with Cassidy didn't work out?"

Cassidy. God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Olivia hasn't even thought of him in months. _None of your business_, sits on the tip of her tongue. Amaro glances at her with such intensity, she wishes he'd pay as much attention to the radio instead of her. Then he chuckles. He sounds like a little boy and it creeps her out.

„What?"

„Still wondering who felt more uncomfortable that night when…"

_Seriously? He's got the nerve to bring that up?_ They have managed not to talk about any of this for a year and now's the time he deems perfect to make fun of the fact that Munch and him had caught her hardly dressed properly to take visits? Which translates to not wearing pants at Brian's. It couldn't have been a big guess what they had been doing before they had ordered the pizza they had thought was delivered when Nick and Munch stood at Bri's door. Olivia sighs and looks at Nick as he stops at a red light.

„Seeing that you wore pants I'd say you were in a better position than me, now can we move on from Cassidy?"

Which doesn't answer Nick's question but it's none of his business if they are over or still on and active as hell. As far as Olivia is concerned she doesn't owe anyone an explanation when it comes to her love life. What is it with her partners anyway? Why do they always feel entitled to be kept in the loop about these things?

„Sure," Nick agrees easily and after a brief pause adds: „So this old _friend_ you're meeting is from London then?"

It seems he loves to annoy her today and Olivia's trigger finger twitches because right now, right this second, she wants to shoot Amaro in the foot. Just to make a point. And she'd enjoy it, too. He picks up on the death glare his painter directs at him and raises both hands, laughing.

„Okay, point taken. Mystery guy will remain a mystery." It's interesting that she's so defensive towards him but so happy and giggly on the phone like he has hardly ever seen her be. Definitely something to keep his eyes on come Monday because Olivia is just not someone who's all sunshine on the first day of the week. Ever. Today he decides to tickle her patience although he knows it's likely close to snapping. The woman can be awfully moody when she isn't on the phone with _London Boy. _„At least for now."

…

6:30 on a Saturday morning is way too early to meet in Ambrose's opinion. It's 42° and he's not exactly warm despite the sweater and outdoor jacket. Glancing around he rubs his hands for warmth. It's 6:25, approximately, and Olivia is nowhere to be seen yet. Which is fine because clearly it is not yet 6:30.

He had been more than a little curious when she had called him yesterday, telling him, quite mysteriously, to meet her at High Street Station. In Brooklyn. She had expertly withheld any more information, not telling him what on earth she had planned at such an ungodly hour. In Brooklyn no less. But, he realizes, he probably won't have to wait much longer, because there she comes, bundled up in a black coat that screams winter, a reddish scarf wrapped around her neck. In her gloved hands she holds two to-go cups. Olivia smiles as she walks up the stairs.

„Coffee enough of an apology for dragging you all the way out here at 6:30?" She holds the Starbucks cup towards him in polite offering as she smirks and Ambrose gladly accepts. „Black right?" She inquires and he nods since she has clearly memorized how he likes his coffee best.

„Right. Thank you." Ambrose smiles back and looks around. „So, Brooklyn?"

„Brooklyn," she agrees with a single nod. „Nice job, Sherlock."

„Another London Reference," he quacks with a friendly eye-roll. „Should have seen that coming."

„Hm," she grins and takes a sip from her own paper cup that spreads a different aroma than his for sure. Whatever she's having is anything but black.

„What's that?"

„Pumpkin spiced Latte," she tells him and moans at the sweet taste and Ambrose makes a face that shows his disdain at it quite clearly. „What?"

„Don't get me wrong, I like pumpkin. I _love_ pumpkin." He does. He truly does. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin-anything-except-pumpkin-spiced-coffee. „But why in God's name would you want it in your coffee?"

„It's autumnal," Olivia reasons. And she loves autumn. She has a soft spot reserved for that season in her heart. It's a bit of a tie with spring but if she had to decide for one or the other she'd probably decide that fall is her favorite season of the year. She loves colored leaves falling from the trees in Central Park, the fresh air.

„Autumnal."

„Yes, autumnal. You don't like autumn? That would be funny seeing London's all fallish with all that rain."

„Funny," Ambrose quips, pointing at her. „Really funny. Getting a little old but it's worth an A for effort."

„You know, you can make all the fun of my pumpkin-flavored coffee you want. I'm above it because it's perfect and they sell it in coffee shops everywhere, which just proves my point - it's great." Olivia says this with conviction as her Latte is scenting the air around them with it's over the top aroma. Ambrose is not convinced but his daughter would most likely be inclined to agree. Ordering from Starbucks with her is something akin to neuroscience, at the very least it has its own terminology, a language he doesn't understand.

„Fair enough. How about you tell me what we're going to do, though?" This instantly lights up the brunette's face as she's pointing the hand that is not holding her coffee cup in the direction his back is facing. He has a rough idea of what is behind him but the penny doesn't quite drop, no matter how expectantly Olivia is looking at him.

„Since you were all touristy with those pictures you sent me I figured I'm going to be touristy right back. We're going to walk Brooklyn Bridge."

„We're what?" He snorts a laugh. It is touristy for sure and the very last thing he had expected. Raising an eyebrow Ambrose lets it sink in. „Really?"

„At sunup," Olivia adds swiftly and with an aura of giddy anticipation. Ambrose can actually see twenty year-old Olivia in her features right there. It's as if he's thrown back in time for a few seconds, then roughly dragged back. Not that he minds because 2013 Olivia is no less intriguing than college student Olivia.

„Hence 6:30. By the time we're well on our way it's going to be the most beautiful view this city has to offer." Olivia has done it once before. In fact she thinks she should do it much more often. There is way too little time for enjoyable things like a slow stroll across the bridge first thing in the morning when the tourist feature isn't buzzing with crazy activity. It's more of a hassle during the day. But this early things on the Brooklyn Bridge are still rather peaceful - well, as peaceful as it gets in New York City. It's a little ridiculous how happy she is about walking the bridge. She is also quite happy about the company she is having. Mostly, Olivia isn't oblivious to it, her social life comes down to her work life. She is spending almost all day every day at work and considers her co-workers her friends. Quite honestly, she even considers them family. Those people are the closest thing to a family she has. But even Olivia has to admit that spending all her work time and free time with the very same rather small group of people gets old. The time she has spent with Ambrose so far, that includes phone calls and touristy pictures of London, is surprisingly refreshing. It's been quite some time since Olivia has last enjoyed herself this much in a company of a man, one that she isn't romantically involved with at that.

„Well, I suppose that is very touristy," he admits, scanning his surroundings. His hands are warming up from the steaming coffee in his cup. „Shall we?"

„Yeah let's," Olivia agrees. They make their way to Prospect Street, walking in silence at first. Until they reach the underpass entrance on Washington.

„So how did you get the idea to walk Brooklyn Bridge?"

„I sat down and made a list of what basically every tourist does when they visit New York, it was fairly easy," she admits with a shrug. Far on the horizon light is touching the city, bathing the skyline in warm, golden hues. They walk slowly, there's nothing and no-one rushing them. The air is crisp this early in the morning. Commuters occupy the bridge, the sound of traffic enveloping them. The pedestrian area however is nearly deserted. „How as your trip?"

„The trip was fine."

Ambrose fills her in, explaining it was basically just a board meeting he attended. He spent a week in London just to make it worth the long flights. It had given him ample opportunity to catch up with friends. Well, one friend. But that one is his best friend so it might as well count for meeting up with five more.

It hadn't been a bad trip overall. Not at all. It hadn't been great, it hadn't been awful. What he has just told Olivia rings true. The trip… it was fine.

In some moments Ambrose had realized that he misses London more than he'd like to admit. And at the very same time he had caught himself thinking of Olivia when he had passed the main tourists passed a lot of them, always keeping busy. He went to his favorite spots in London, the restaurants he liked, the bars he usually frequents with friends, the walks he likes to walk. It had been kind of surprising at first, to think of her at all, but something he had quickly gotten used to on his third or fourth day, which had then inspired him to take pictures and send them to Olivia with different captions. He hadn't so much expected Olivia to reply to each one. Except she had. Ambrose also hadn't expected to feel quite as excited about said replies. Except he _had_. All in all it had been a lot unexpected yet exciting texting back and forth between London and New York.

It's funny because come to think of it - all the texting is what had made the trip decent, which says a lot seeing he feels much more at home in London than he does here._ Curious, really. _

Sunrise keeps drifting in, mellow pinks and blues blur together. The sight is terrific, even Ambrose has to admit that much. Their footsteps are drowned out completely by the city's traffic. Even the silence between them feels oddly comfortable. It's Olivia, again, who fills it eventually as they reach the wooden path of the bridge.

„I really liked those pictures you sent. I was working a rather rough case that week and it was a nice distraction." She is still holding on to her cup of over-flavored coffee that Ambrose guesses must have run coldish by now. His own coffee cup has been drained a little while ago.

„That's good. Not the rough case, that the pictures… well, you know what I mean." He stumbles and glances downward as they walk slowly. A woman on a bike passes by them as he licks his lips in thought. „I thought of you a lot," he admits, then regrets the words the moment they are out. Her eyes are on him, Ambrose can feel it, and his entire body heats under those scrutinizing gaze of her dark eyes.

„You have?"

They have texted back and forth so he wonders if it's really that hard to imagine that she's been on his mind in London. Saying it out loud however might not have been the smartest move. It doesn't mean anything, Ambrose thinks, pushing the thought to the forefront of his mind. Nothing at all. They are friends. Sort of. Friendly. They are friendly, so thinking of Olivia is, by all means, not worrisome or even out of the ordinary. It should be considered perfectly normal behavior. The way it sounds however…

„I did, too. It's-," she clears her throat and as she speaks it feels as if bricks fall from Ambrose's shoulders like deadweight. Saved by the bell. Olivia doesn't seem to ask for an explanation. „I don't spend a lot of time with people I don't work with. Which sounds awful and like I'm some kind of workaholic…"

„Which you are not?" Ambrose inquires curiously. The guilty smile that creeps onto her face tells him she is before she does.

„Which I am. But the people I work with are also my friends so my entire life feels like I'm in that microcosmos with the same people all the time and this-," she looks at him and frowns for a brief moment, unsure how to put how this makes her feel into actual words. „- it's nice for a change. To be with someone who's not part of this world." Because for a little while it makes her feel like she has an actual life outside the precinct. Which just sounds pretty sad and pathetic to her own ears. It's different to how things were with Brian because at the end of the day they were not just friends. Plus they are both cops and cops tend to talk cop talk way too much. People would be amazed by what two detectives discuss in the afterglow.

Ambrose gets it. He doesn't know much about her work but it must be energy-sapping and stressful. And while Olivia surrounds herself with the same people from work in her private life while he… well, he surrounds himself with his people from London still. Which basically means he has no circle of friends here.

„To be honest, I don't have anyone here… except Amelia, but she's my kid so I suppose that doesn't count, does it?"

„Probably not," Olivia says pensively.

…

The skyline in front of them stands out in a burst of light; New York City bursts to life all around them. Still here, on this bridge, it feels like some sort of sanctuary. The East River underneath them produces silver waves, Lower Manhattan rises above steely and strong. There are more people passing them now, cyclists, joggers, walkers. Many of them are rushed while they are anything but. Olivia, next to him, has fallen silent once more as she steps towards the side of the bridge and stops. She needs a moment, takes a moment to breathe and think how curious it is that their situations are so different and yet very much alike in terms of friendships. Besides her Ambrose finds his spot, staring at the skyline ahead of them that's bathing in the early morning glow, in colors of gold and orange, purple and blue. It's fascinating that this gray, dark city can bloom like this.

„Thank you," Olivia hears the man next to her say. Slowly she turns her head, looks at him, takes in his profile as he stares ahead at this city she knows he doesn't like - well, not as much as London at least. But she is not going to crack a joke about it. Not this time.

„What for?"

He looks at her then, his eyes intense and dark. They are always dark but right now they seem even darker. It is then that Olivia identifies it as sadness. There are no more words. He doesn't tell her what for. He doesn't tell her anything at all for a while. It is Olivia who breaks eye contact first. For a little while longer they bathe in the loudness of the city and the silence between them.

…

Ambrose's mouth is dry. His mouth is dry and there is a lump in his throat he can't swallow. It's not for a lack of trying. No sound comes out, which might be because he doesn't even open his mouth. Two years. That's for how long he has lived here. And for the most part he has resented it. This entire city. Amelia has been his sole lifeline in the solitude of New York. And now here he stands on the Brooklyn Bridge at seven-something in the morning as the city awakes and for once, for once, he doesn't feel lonely at all. It has become a mechanism for him to wish he could be elsewhere. Back in London, back where everything feels and smells and looks like _home. _

Here everything is different. He misses his friends, the house, the beer (although he's not even much of a beer drinker). He misses rugby and football (which he hasn't called soccer in a decade). He even misses the rain. The glorious rains of London.

Except right now he doesn't miss. In this very moment Ambrose doesn't miss anything at all. For the first time he feels something like gratitude in this city. He sees the beauty. The light. And he feels like maybe, just maybe there are possibilities here.

It is a long while until he speaks again. And it is very little that makes it past his lips when he reinforces: „Thank you." It is all there is, all he can offer as his hand finds her arm, just above her elbow, and squeezes gently.

„You're welcome," he hears her, thinking if it's just a whisper because her words are almost washed out by the noise of New York City. For once he breathes it in, absorbs it.

_Glorious New York City. _

…

**End notes: Feedback is always appreciated. Let's face it, it makes the entire process a lot more fun if writers get to interact with readers. **


	4. Chapter 4

The mood shifts by the time they sit in a small café that serves breakfast. Olivia opts for normal coffee this time, along with a bagel. Ambrose feasts on a breakfast muffin, blueberry, and she is eyeing the treat suspiciously because it comes with more sugar than his body suggests he's consuming regularly. Of course that is just a wild guess, she hasn't seen the man without his shirt on after all.

Their breakfast is fairly decent. Olivia's Brie cheese bagel is tasty, still Ambrose's muffin looks pretty damned delicious.

„Oh, I actually brought you something back from London, which fits the tourist theme we seem to have going on." Looking up their eyes meet across the round table they occupy. Olivia chews a bite of her food, her eyes lighting up with curiosity.

„You brought me something? Seriously?"

„It's not much," he tells her between sips of coffee. Ambrose had gotten the gift, if that's what he wants to call it, at one of the various souvenir shops at the airport. It's tacky but that, he thinks, is only natural for a proper souvenir. Olivia watches Ambrose unzip the black backpack (He gets extra points for bringing it because how touristy is a backpack, come on!) and retrieve a small brown paper back with green handles.

„That's not alcohol, is it?" Not that she would complain. But as she pulls the bag closer toward her from the middle of the table she realizes that whatever it is doesn't have much weight.

„Find out."

Her hand goes in and wraps around something rubbery and round. As she pulls it out The Queen is smiling back at her from a thermal mug, the UK flag in the background, wrapping around the cup like a banner. And Olivia laughs.

„Oh my God." She laughs until tears are in her eyes. In fact she makes some heads turn as her laughter fills the café as if it's an unwelcome intrusion to them. If they'd ask Ambrose he'd testify it's the most refreshing thing he's heard in a while.

Olivia inspects the thermal cup closely. The cup is the single most terrible item she has owned thus far.

„It's dreadful, I know. You don't have to use it, it's obviously more of a gimmick." After sending her all the pictures of the most important London sights Ambrose had thought the mug would bring things to a nice close.

„No, I love it. This is the best souvenir ever," she assures. Sure, it's butt ugly but there's always use for a thermal mug. It'll be perfect for the car as it is most likely going to keep her coffee warm for longer than all the paper cups she normally uses. „I'll honor it dearly. How did you find this?"

Ambrose shrugs and shows teeth as he smiles. „I went into the first available souvenir shop and picked this shameful monstrosity that is supposed to represent Great Britain."

„It's perfect. Not what I usually go for but I might just start a collection of horrible monarchal souvenirs." Above all Olivia is a little touched that Ambrose thought to bring her something, that he thought of her enough to want to bring back something from his trip.

„I'll be happy to help with that, whatever you want, I'll get it for you. Shall we start with the good old Twinnings Tea Box in the British telephone booth design or go straight for the UK flag bedding?"

„That just sounds like the epitome of Hygge," her words sound enticing as she wiggles her eyebrows. The cup is put down on the table by a manicured Hand and Olivia realizes it's not going to get any prettier, no matter how intensely she looks at it.

„Glad you like it."

„Well, what's not to like?" The sarcasm is glistening in Olivia's eyes but her gaze quickly softens. „Thank you."

„You're welcome," Ambrose offers.

They finish their breakfast around easy conversation of what else they have planned for the weekend - individually. It doesn't sound very exciting when it comes to either of them. Olivia has errands to run, Ambrose is going to cook for his daughter and maybe take a longish walk with _the dog._

„You have a dog?" Olivia is intrigued.

„Amelia has a…," he stops himself mid-sentence and bobs his head left to right. „Yeah, I guess I have a dog." Because whom is he kidding, Amelia visits once a week and takes care of the dog when he has to travel. And as much as he'd like to deny it, he's come to like the little guy. What he doesn't like is all the fur he leaves all over his place. Also he's drooling. A lot.

Olivia is obviously curious now and so Ambrose starts telling the story of how his daughter had brought the french bulldog home, to _his _home notabene, after his owner, an old lady who used to live across the street, died. Amelia had watched the woman's family clear out the apartment for a while and Ambrose hadn't understood why any of that had been so interesting to her. Until eventually she had rushed out and asked the woman's son what is going to happen with the dog. Long story short, she returned with the old bulldog in tow, held a speech of how the poor animal can't go to a shelter after Ambrose had given it is best effort of telling her _no, absolutely not_… and that was that. Now he has had a dog for the past seven months.

„Your perseverance is astounding," Olivia teases with sparkling eyes, between bites of her bagel. She thinks only parents can be played like that and involuntarily she wonders how that must feel, to love so hard, so purely that you'll get roped into taking in a dog, a full-on responsibility for a life, when you don't actually want it. What must it be like when you want to make your child happy even when you yourself happen to fall by the wayside in the most beautiful way?

„You try to say no to Amelia when she starts reciting statistics of older animals in shelters, getting all worked up and teary eyed." Ambrose shakes his head. He almost wishes she'd put on an act but Amelia is that caring, that much of an animal lover. „Even as a kid she'd bring home anything that crossed her way. Once, she was nine, she came home from school with a stray kitten full of fleas. I told her we couldn't keep a cat. You can't even imagine the total breakdown of a nine year-old girl."

„Needless to say you kept it, huh?"

„No, I brought it to a vet and told her a cute kitten like that is going to be adopted right away. She refused to talk to me for a few days but eventually she got over it." As an afterthought he mutters: „I think."

„She sounds quite like something," Olivia smiles as Ambrose's eyes light up with the pride and love he feels for his daughter.

„Oh, she's something for sure," he chuckles and pauses mid-motion as he is about to take a sip of coffee. When it comes down to it Ambrose couldn't describe his daughter and do her justice if he tried. She really is something else. And he wouldn't want it any other way.

…

When they part outside of the café it is windy. Olivia's hair is blowing all around and into her face and she tries her best to smooth it back.

„Well, this was nice," she offers, not entirely sure if she means walking the bridge, breakfast, the conversations or all of it. In her left hand she's carrying the gift bag. Within the past three hours she hasn't thought of work once. It's the weekend and many people might not waste a thought on work outside of the workplace but for Olivia Benson to unwind to the point that current cases don't cross her mind at all is quite the achievement. Work is always somewhere in the back of her mind. Only right now it is not.

„It was. I had a very good time." Ambrose moves closer tentatively, stepping into the brunette's personal space. He watches out for a reaction but Olivia doesn't flinch or move away, instead those brown eyes soften. He comes to a halt with about ten inches left between them. „Thank you for that. I think-," he starts but thinks better of it. „I like this city a lot better now." There. He said it. And for him it is a lot.

„I'm glad." Her hair is flailing all around and around. „I'll see you again soon?" It feels like her heart is beating just a little faster than it should, which is confusing. Olivia can't bring it into line with meeting a college friend. But then maybe this is normal. It's been a long time and they used to be close and she _is _enjoying Ambrose's company. A heart beating a tad faster is only human after all, isn't it?

„Yeah," he agrees slowly, eyes on her. He'd like that. He'd love that. So he tells her that. „I'd like that." Feeling slightly nervous Ambrose glances around, just briefly, until their eyes meet again. Olivia's cheeks are rosy against her otherwise olive complexion, making Ambrose wonder if it's from the residual warmth of the café they have just exited or from the chilly temperature ruling outside. It is not much warmer than when they have met up earlier this morning.

„Should we keep going with that tourist theme?" It's a joke but at the same time the thought is oddly appealing. It has been fun so far. Her mother's voice is in her ear then, telling her not to ruin a good thing. Olivia can't quite remember the context but figures that in this situation it sounds like good advise.

„You really want to expand that collection of British souvenirs, huh?"

„Absolutely," she says with mock-severity and sparkling eyes. „Was there ever any doubt?"

„In that case we should probably keep the theme going," Ambrose says softly. It may be silly but this thing between them it's not just fun, it's also comfortable. In Olivia's proximity he realizes he feels calmer, a little less unsettled, a little less lonely. And that's something. It's more than Ambrose has managed in the past couple of…well, in the past twelve years. They have met three times and already she has made his life better, more exciting. Olivia, unaware as she may be, has given him something to look forward to. When he thinks about it, it makes no sense. That this little gives him so much. That Olivia gives him so much without even realizing it.

Another gust of wind, another try to tame that hair that is everywhere. „Are you taking the subway?"

„Depends." He shoves his hands inside the pockets of his jacket.

„On what?"

„I'm wondering what's more touristy, an expensive cab ride or the subway."

„That's actually a good question that I'm not sure I know the answer to." The door of the café behind them cracks open and a couple makes their way outside hand in hand.

„Well, in that case… care to share a cab?"

„I'd rather not. I'm on the Upper Westside, it'd be a bit of an expensive ride. The subway it will be."

„That sounds reasonable." He could probably ride a few stations with her but a taxi will get him home faster. And they do have to part ways eventually, he might as well get it over with now. „This was nice."

„So we said," she smiles.

It's an awkward moment. There they stand and Ambrose is lost. Is he supposed to just wave and walk away? Or would it be appropriate to kiss her on the cheek, breathe words of goodbye? They are friends, aren't they? He could probably even get away with a hug. He stands and watches her, wondering if there is some kind of signal that will tell him what to do or what not to do. Turn out there is no such thing. For a start he pulls his hands from his jacket pockets.

„Well." He hasn't gotten any further in his decision making process but his body seems to move in without his doing. Suddenly his arms wrap around Olivia in an easy hug. He inhales and her perfume clouds his senses in the best and the worst way. For a moment Ambrose feels lightheaded and lulled in. His eyes close as he gently pulls the brunette's tall body against him. Olivia Benson smells like sweet, freshly cut grass after the rain, daring him to breathe in, to breathe deeply and absorb it, this feeling, her. Olivia leans into him as well. The hug is brief, a quick succession of moving in and moving out. Yet it makes his heart flutter. How's that for a surprise? Ambrose forces his face to stay neutral as he gathers words of goodbye and the promise to call. She smiles and then she moves away from him, a couple of steps backwards before she turns and walks away.

Ambrose remains in his spot, watches in silence how she leaves with his gift bag in one hand. She walks quickly, with long strides, which shouldn't surprise him because Olivia has impossibly long legs. She's tall. She's always been tall. Those legs are _nice legs_ he notices and shakes his head as if he could shake off any such thought.

…

„Hey Dad." Amelia breezes into his eat-in kitchen and hugs Ambrose, planting a kiss on his cheek as he stands cutting vegetables, a kitchen towel draped over his left shoulder. There's fresh salmon in a small casserole, drizzled with oil and seasoned with salt and freshly ground pepper.

„Hey kiddo," he greets, taking in her always striking appearance. She's wearing a woolen knitted mustard colored dress with long sleeves and shiny black Doc Martens boots. Her natural bouncy curls frame her diamond shape face in a short bob.

„Salmon?" Amelia wrinkles her freckled nose with a semblance of disgust.

„Now what's wrong with salmon?" Ambrose asks.

„I don't eat fish," his daughter proclaims nonchalantly.

„Since when?"

„Since… I don't know, a while."

„Interesting," Ambrose mumbles, knowing there's no arguing. At this rate he can probably be glad she hasn't gone full on vegan on him. „But vegetables are fine?" He teases, trying to take it with some humor. Amelia has been a vegetarian since she was fifteen and while she doesn't necessarily love fish up until now she has at least tolerated shrimp and salmon.

„Vegetables are always fine, Daddy," she smiles. He takes her in and undoubtedly Amelia is her mother's daughter. He can see so much of Claire in her, it's uncanny at times. His daughter's skin in several shades lighter than his own. Her cheeks and nose are adorned by dark freckles, clearly her mother's legacy, just like the green eyes. It is not something Ambrose can pinpoint exactly, clearly Amelia isn't the spitting image of his late wife, but it's still all there in his daughter's features, in the curve of her full lips, especially when they curl up in a smile. It's in the way she cocks her head, in the way she looks at him with such an inquisitive, intense gaze sometimes.

„Well, thank God then," he beams as she takes a slice of carrot and takes a bite. „How's uni?"

„It's fine. I was thinking I could maybe add another course next semester."

„Like what?" He thinks she has enough going on between college and work but maybe he shouldn't be surprised. She's always been an overachiever, always aware that she might just have to try harder to succeed in life.

„I don't know yet it just feels like there's something I'm missing, you know? Something I should do, something I need to do but…"

„Honey, slow down." It's like he's telling a dog not to bark.

„I'm just saying that things don't feel quite right. Where's Homey?"

„Probably in bed."

„Oh, perfect." And with that she's gone and he doesn't see her before they sit at the table for dinner.

…

„So, what's new with you? And don't tell me nothing again." With her father it's the same old story every time. Well, almost. The thing is, Amelia believes that most of the time he doesn't have news to share, nothing exciting anyway. If you ask her he's not really trying to change that, either. Her Dad is lonely. That she knows. He probably would like to have someone in his life, a steady companion. But he's not very actively going after meeting someone to spend all of this time he has with.

It's not quite nothing this time and yet Ambrose doesn't feel comfortable sharing it. But since he's also not very good at hiding things, least of all from Amelia, she catches said discomfort and starts to dig.

„Oh, so there's something. Do tell."

„It's nothing. Nothing much."

„Daddy! Come on." The British accent is so thick and lovely, it instantly makes him crack.

„Well, I met someone." Big mistake. This is not how he is supposed to start a conversation. Ever.

„You did? That's fantastic! So did you like go out on a date?"

„It's not like that, Amelia," he explains slowly. His voice sounds pleading. Just for once he'd like to explain things in his own timing.

Abruptly her face falls however and she shakes her head.

Since her mother's death Amelia's dad has dated, sometimes more and sometimes less seriously. Said dating history goes something like this:

_..._

_Candidate number one: Frieda_

_Approximate time they have dated: three months, give or take_

_Reason it ended: unknown, although her Dad crying over a picture of her mom in his hands for what felt like a very long time for a ten year-old girl, also known as his daughter, might be an indicator that he hadn't been ready to commit to someone new._

_..._

_Candidate number two: Molly _

_Approximate time they have dated: five months _

_Level of commitment: definite step-up from whatever level of commitment he felt toward Frieda. Introductions were made. _

_Reason it ended: will probably be forever unbeknown to Amelia. One day she was there, one day she was gone. _

_Dad's time spent crying over Mom's picture: None. Unless any crying has occurred out of earshot and out of sight._

_..._

_Candidate number three: Rheena_

_Approximate time they have dated: three dates, several sexual encounters (the latter is guess-work from overhearing conversation between Dad and Matt aka the best mate._

_Level of commitment: apparently none outside the sack. _

_Reason it ended: Quote Ambrose Williams: I don't care for her. She's perfectly nice but there's nothing there. Unquote._

_..._

_Candidate number four: Simone. _

_Approximate time they have dated: None. No matter how hard they have tried. _

_Reason Simone would have been perfect: Divorcee, very good looking, great cook, animal loving, perfectly nice and caring mother of her very best friend Brooke. _

_Attempts to pair their parents up: several failed. _

_Reason given it never started: The kids, because breakups can be messy._

_..._

_Candidate number five: Sheila, the New York Neighbor. _

_Positive: Divorced and most likely single, pleasant voice, adult kids (two to be exact), has three cats._

_Negative: May be a lesbian because three cats._

_But to add to the positive side: owns three cats. _

_To add to the negative side: Homer hates cats. Might kill all three if given the chance._

_Attempts to convince her Dad to ask Sheila out despite his dog lusting for kitty blood: Multiple. _

_Refusals so far: Multiple and counting._

_..._

_Number of one-night-stands after Claire's death in total: too many but far from man-whoring._

_..._

„Daddy, seriously, I thought we discussed this one-night-stand business. I mean, I get it, you're only human and all that but when it comes to you the entire ‚_just sex_' thing is like….chickenpox."

_Oh God, here it comes. _And there is nothing to stop Amelia once she is getting started. He's tried. So he sits and only blinks at his daughter's rather unusual remarks.

„Scratching that itch may feel good in the moment but do you know what you get in the end? Scars, Dad. You don't wanna just sleep around."

„I haven't slept around," Ambrose finally states with a tone of exasperation. _But interesting to know that's what you think when it comes to me saying I met someone. _

„You haven't?"

„No."

„Oh." Amelia lets that sink in then shrugs. „Okay."

„That's it? Just okay? It's no longer of interest unless I'm either dating or sleeping around?" He should feel offended. Maybe he does.

„Of course not, Dad," Amelia says softly, realizing it might seem like it sometimes. „So you met someone," she offers brightly to get the conversation started again but her father merely makes a face. „Dad, come on. I'm sorry. I do want to hear about it." It takes a moment but eventually Ambrose glances up.

„It's nothing."

This time she makes a face at him.

„Bloody hell, Dad, don't do this. This is not what we do," Amelia says, her tone pleading. „I said I was sorry."

Ambrose pokes the salmon on his plate with his fork as he's brooding on the inside.

„Not everything is about sex, Amelia."

This makes her swallow. She knows this. Her father is a decent guy. He's not someone who screws around for the fun of it. He's not someone who's screwing around ever, period. But he is human and he gets lonely, that's not even something he needs to say out loud and in so many words. It is quite obvious to her. And after twelve years - who wouldn't feel lonesome?

„Of course not."

„And just for the record, my sex life, however busy it may or may not be is none of your business."

This is new and although she wants to pipe up, she presses her lips shut in a tight line. She can't deny he has a point. It is none of her business, and yet they had always managed to discuss it openly. Not in detail, of course. She wouldn't want to know any details. It's always been more along of the lines of _it's not serious _or _I don't know yet, time will tell. _So this gives Amelia a pause.

„True," she says after a moment, which seems to surprise her Dad. He needs to adjust to those words.

„Good that we talked about it."

„Great. Best talk ever."

„Don't be flippant with me, Amelia."

„I'm not. I'm just trying to…," she exhales heavily and puts her fork down. „Look Dad, if that's how you feel, if that's how you felt about it all this time, you should have said something."

„I tried, Amelia."

„You haven't though, have you?

It throws him off. To buy time Ambrose scratches his chin and avoids his daughters intense green-eyed gaze.

„Have you?" she presses on.

He can't cover his discomfort, his daughter knows him too well. Before he can answer she speaks again.

„Look Daddy, I know what you do is entirely up to you. And I'm not trying to judge I just-." When she draws a shaky breath and her eyes glaze over he can see that it's not just him who's struggling. „I'm pushing you. I know I'm pushing you to go out and meet people or to make an account for a dating website or…or ask out Sheila. But you can't tell me you're not bloody lonely. You deserve someone. Someone great. It's been," she glances away and bites the inside of her cheek as she goes on in her head. _Twelve years. _„And I know you miss Mom. I do, too. But she didn't want this for you - all this chastising yourself."

The unfairness of it all stings. Amelia takes a sip of water, mostly to distract herself and not start crying. It's not because her Mom's dead. It sucks but she's been through enough therapy to come to terms with the years of sickness and her mother wasting away right before their eyes.

„Amelia," he says with a dry throat. His voice is gentle. They don't usually do this, talk about Claire's death in particular. They talk about her, about the good memories. But this, this they don't do.

„She didn't want this for you," she repeats with watery green eyes and a cracking voice. Which is heartbreaking because Amelia is not someone who cries easily. She's tough, she's opinionated, strong, smart, sassy, quick.

„Amelia…"

„She didn't want this for you, Dad," she says again and angrily wipes at a tear that rolls down her cheek. „She didn't. So, if you could just _try. _Not for me. Could you…"

Ambrose swallows. His stomach tightens. He wants to do something, anything to make her feel better.

_Never make promises you can't keep. _

„Okay," he whispers and pushes his chair back, wiping his mouth. His heart is racing with worry because he still can't wrap his head around what is happening. „Okay," he repeats. „Shhh. Come here."

He pulls her sitting frame against him, running his hand through her soft hair that is so much closer to his in structure than to Claire's. The dam breaks and his daughter sobs against his ribs, sucking in unsteady breaths. His heart twinges even more when he realizes he has no idea what to do, what to say, how to make it better for her. He's not very experienced with whatever this is.

As a single father Ambrose knows how to handle heartbreak, he didn't shy away from the sex talk when Amelia had her first boyfriend or getting down to the nitty gritty of sanitary protection when Amelia had stood before him and insecurely told him she had gotten her period at age thirteen. But this? This is not something he is prepared for. So he says things he doesn't quite know he can honor.

„I'll try. I promise."

…

End notes: So to summarize things thus far: Ambrose and Olivia have a thing and Amelia is struggling with something that we will revisit later. Also it might be quite interesting to see how things will continue on between Ambrose and Liv. And maybe Ambrose and is-she-or-isn't-she-a-cliché-lesbian-with-three-cats Sheila. I had to work that one in after a bit of a person joke between two friends. Feedback is wildly appreciated. Always.

On a different note: Loss will be updated very soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: All my love and gratitude today goes out to the amazing Amilyn for listening to me, brainstorming with me and being a great beta! THANK YOU! **

**...**

**12/03/2013 9:37**

**Olivia** **sent an image**

_Just so you know I'm using it. _

**12/03/2013 9:42 **

**Ambrose**

_And in the office. Nice. Very royal. _

**12/03/2013 9:43**

**Olivia**

_What can I say, it keeps the coffee warm. Although my co-workers probably won't let me hear the end of it. _

**12/03/2013 9:50**

**Ambrose 9:52**

_That sounds intriguing, detective. _

**12/03/2013 9:55**

**Olivia**

_It's really not. By the way, as of yesterday it's Sergeant. _

**12/03/2013 9:55**

**Ambrose**

_Congrats! Wanna celebrate? _

**12/03/2013 9:59**

**Olivia**

_Tonight? I'm free. _

**12/03/2013 10:01**

**Ambrose**

_I have a date tonight. Tomorrow? _

**12/03/2013 10:03**

**Olivia**

_I have a work thing tomorrow. Friday then?_

**12/03/2013 10:04**

**Ambrose**

_I'm leaving for London Thursday morning… _

„Liv?" Her thumb faintly traces the side of the iPhone, letting Ambrose's announcement about him going to London sink in as her partner interrupts the back and forth of texts between them.

She looks up at Nick, still chewing on the revelation that Ambrose has a date tomorrow. Is she supposed to congratulate him? Certainly she shouldn't feel disappointment rolling in waves as it does. They can do drinks any other time. Well, once he's back from London, apparently. And it's not like she can't go out with Nick or Amanda. They are perfectly good company.

„We gotta go." Of course they do, no surprise there. It's always something and the stack of paperwork undone only grows up until the point she pulls an all-nighter to catch up on it much to her Captain's chagrin. „CSU found something."

„I'm coming," she says, sliding her phone into her pocket. She grabs her coat, and together they move towards the elevators.

„Everything okay?" Nick is studying her. She's all rigid posture and tight face, looking tired.

„Peachy," she says, pasting on a fake smile.

…

**12/05/2013 7:12**

**Olivia**

_In case you're not already on the plane: I hope you have a good flight. _

**12/05/2013 7:46 **

**Ambrose**

_Not yet. I'm on my way to the airport. How was your work thing? _

**12/05/2013 8:00 **

**Olivia**

_It was mandatory, which should say it all. Did your date go well?_

**12/05/2013 8:09 **

**Ambrose **

_Pretty well. _

**12/05/2013 8:09**

**Olivia**

_Great_

Olivia pretends her heart isn't thumping like crazy under her blouse when his reply comes in. More than that she pretends in her head her final reply doesn't have a petulant, sarcastic tone to it.

…

He's nursing an ale in one of his favorite places in the city, a rustic pub on the banks of the Thames. It's busy as always, the pub buzzing with locals and tourists alike. The Mayflower has become a hotspot long ago but even longer than that Matt and Ambrose have frequented it. They serve excellent drinks and tasty food. Also the view is like nothing else.

It's a cold December day so winter jackets, scarves, and gloves are a natural choice. The establishment, however, is warm and cozy, the beer oddly comforting. So is Matt's presence. The two men got to know each other seventeen years ago. It is one of the few friendships that has stood the test of time. At forty-five Ambrose has learned one thing: common interest, the same sense of humor? Those things aren't enough to make for a good and lasting friendship. Matt has proven himself and his loyalty time and time again, especially during Claire's illness. If there has been a constant in Ambrose's life, it's Matt and his wife Tilda.

„Have you thought about Christmas then?" Matt puts his beer down, fixes the cuff of his dress shirt. He has made it here straight from work after a rather long day.

„Sorry, what was that?"

„Christmas."

„Oh," he mulls it over. Tilda had forwarded an invitation to him and Amelia a couple of months ago and naturally Ambrose had promised he would think about it with the flights and the dog and the whole string of planning involved. When he still lived in the UK it had become a sort of tradition for them to have an opulent Christmas dinner at Tilda and Matt's before they'd spend boxing day with Amelia's grandparents. He figures if they do spend the holidays in London his in-laws will catch wind of it because no way is Amelia going to keep to herself that he, too, is in the city, and his attendance would be mandatory (because what would everyone think?). While his own relationship to Claire's parents is strained, Amelia loves them, and they adore Amelia. It's cynical but he wonders if they think she has got just enough of white in her for them to forget their bigotry around her. Of course Ambrose would never want to stand in the way of their good relationship. He also doesn't want to ruin the holidays for himself by sitting at their table, being on the receiving end of their passive-aggressive "politeness". In that regard his move to New York has been a real blessing. „I'm not sure yet."

His phone beeps with an incoming message and he pulls it out, scanning the text.

**12/09/2019 8:38 **

**Olivia**

_Gee, thanks for SHARING that! While you are enjoying your trip in a „pub with a beautiful view on the Thames" I'm actually working like a good citizen. And don't say so are you, one meeting does not qualify as work, Mister. PS: I obviously chose the wrong career path. _

With quick fingers Ambrose types in a reply.

**12/09/2019 8:39**

**Ambrose**

_Oh, so it's Mister now? No longer London Boy? Too bad., I actually started liking it. _

„Now fuck me if I am not bloody curious why you are grinning at your phone like a lovestruck idiot," Matt says.

„What? No."

„Oh yes, mate. Who is it? The neighbor? What was her name again?"

„Sheila."

„Sheila. So, is it Sheila?"

Ambrose sets his phone down.

„It's not Sheila, and I am not grinning like a lovestruck anything."

„Ames, come on, you're not fooling me. Who is it?" Matt keeps on digging.

„It's just a friend."

„What friend?"

„A friend from college," he explains with a wave of his hand as if it's not important.

„And would that _friend from college_ by any chance be of the female persuasion?"

Ambrose merely gives Matt a glare and shakes his head in annoyance as he takes a sip from his beer.

„I thought so." Matt is enjoying this way too much. „So what were you grinning about? I'm sure she's not sending you cat memes. And if she is then you better run as fast as you can. I'm pretty certain you wouldn't grin from ear to ear because of cats, though."

At this rate Ambrose decides he would rather talk about Sheila, and he doesn't feel like talking about her much. Also he thinks if he and Sheila were a little more acquainted she might send him cat memes. She did talk about her "babies" a lot. But at least as long as she had talked he hadn't needed to try really hard to keep a conversation going. It wasn't easy because it seems they don't have much in common except they both own a pet, have adult children and share an apartment complex as neighbors.

„She made a joke."

„Ah. Funny," Matt says dryly. „Care to share?"

„Care to let it go?"

„You like her."

„She's a friend. We're meeting up now and then. It'd be counter-productive if I didn't like her, Matt."

„Right. What's her name?"

„Does that matter?"

„If she's just a friend, and you're being all friendly, then what's the harm in sharing her name?" Matt asks smugly, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. As expected, he bites.

„Olivia."

„Olivia."

„Olivia," Ambrose nods.

„Nice." Matt grins crookedly when Ambrose's phone alarms him of another text. „Go ahead."

Of course he leaves his phone on the table this time, not giving Matt the satisfaction.

„Let it go, Matthew. There's nothing there."

„If you say so," the ginger-haired man shrugs. „So what about that Sheila then? Good date?"

„Yeah. No. That's not gonna happen. I mean…she seems nice but I wasn't really interested to begin with. I only asked her out because Amelia thought… I don't know what she thought. She wants me to find someone."

„She is aware that this is not what they mean by keeping on good terms with the neighbourhood, right?" He chuckles and takes a drink. „It was only a date, right? You didn't…"

„God no. Of course not." This makes the other man laugh out loud.

„Is she that bad?"

„That's not what I said."

„Well, it kinda is."

„She's nice enough."

„Uh-huh." Matt figures it either translates to she's not attractive or she's unintelligent. If it's an unfortunate case both. „Let me ask like this: what is wrong with her?"

„There's nothing wrong with her."

„She's not your type?" It would surprise him because as far as Matt can see the man has no specific type whatsoever. Claire was a red-head with British roots. He's gone out with blondes and brunettes, white women, black women. There was also a whirlwind affair with a business associate from Mumbai - strictly sexual of course. If there is a pattern other than all of them being female, Matt has not yet seen it.

„I'm just not interested, I guess. She looks fine, she's successful in her job, she's… she's fine," he sighs softly. Ambrose can't explain it. Sheila could be perfect. She is a successful woman, she is not at all bad looking, she's smart, she's even kind of funny. And yet there is _nothing_ that makes him think they could work. Going out on a second date doesn't even make sense to him. He just hopes Sheila feels the same or else things might be awkward between them.

„Okay, look - I always promised Tilda never to ask this question but I'm going to ask now, even though it might irk you. But what is it with you?" He looks at his best friend, not quite getting it. Ambrose is a good looking bloke, there are plenty of women who show an interest in him. And somehow he still manages not to get into a relationship.

Ambrose exhales heavily and shrugs. It's basically what his daughter is asking him as well, and he can't explain it. Not really.

„I don't know," he says honestly.

„Do you want to be alone?"

He thinks about that for a moment although they both know the answer.

„Not really."

„Then what?"

„I don't know," he repeats a little more forcefully. „It's been a long time and I…"

„You're over Claire…"

„I'll never be over Claire," he corrects. „But yes, I've come to terms with her death. That's not it." God, he could really do with a stronger drink. „Dating's… the dating part is fine but that transition after a certain number of dates to an actual relationship? That's… that's hard," he confesses. To open up, let someone in and allow himself to be vulnerable once more. „It gets to a certain point, and then I just… hit the brakes."

„But why?"

„Because that's easier? Safer?" He finishes his beer, wondering how much to share. "It's like… each time… all of a sudden it hits me. That they're not her. And of course I know that, and I don't want them to be but… She's all I've ever known. And I honestly don't think that I can love like that again, which doesn't make it fair. It's not an even playing field." Now he really needs a proper drink. As one of the waitresses walks by, he stops her and orders a Laphroaig. He can see Matt's scrutinizing gaze as the other man seems to consider his words.

"Ames, you do realize you don't need to love like that again, right? It's a new page, you are not supposed to rewrite history. Obviously no other woman will be like Claire. You're not supposed to bring the exact same things to the table. It won't be the same. It won't _feel _the same. But that doesn't mean it can't be good or that it's not an even playing field."

Almost imperceptibly Ambrose's shoulders slump under the weight of all those expectations.. Amelia's, Matt's… most of all his own.

He isn't blind to what he has been doing in the past decade when it comes to women. He has self-sabotaged. Created reasons why it wasn't a good idea to continue seeing them. No excuse was too small once a budding relationship got too serious. And of course Matt and Tilda-even Amelia-knew that.

"I know that in my head, Matt," he says heavily, a groan slipping out. Ambrose is frustrated with himself. With his inability to open himself up to someone enough to allow a serious relationship to develop.

"Just sayin' - you are forty-five. That's a lot of life to live."

This strikes a chord with Ambrose. He realizes he has only ever thought in terms of how long Claire has been gone - and how long he has been alone. But he never once considered how many more years he might still be alone - God willing. All of a sudden ten, fifteen, twenty more years sound terribly long, whereas, in his heart, it sometimes still feels as raw as if Claire had died only a couple of years ago. He always says he's come to terms but sitting here with Matt, talking about his non-existent love life, is one of those moments where he wonders: _Have I really?_

"I mean, you don't wanna end up like Berkins," Matt frowns at the thought of their friend who can't hack staying in a relationship.

"Oh come on, I'm nothing like Berkins. He's a player. That's not me."

"True," Matt slowly wiggles his head. "Although one could say that you are both just dating and you know…"

"Please, I bet he's still laying some unsuspecting woman every couple of weeks. He's fooling them, I'm pretty much upfront about these things. Plus, I haven't slept with anyone in... " he tries and shakes his head because it's pretty depressing to no longer count in months because it's crossed the one-year mark.

"That long, hm?"

"Thanksgiving."

"Well, you just did the whole Thanksgiving circus. Wait… who…," Then the penny drops. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"And you don't have blue balls yet? Bloody hell, Ames." His gaze instantly scans their surroundings, thinking no guy should go without sex for more than a year but there's no-one who appears to be single or suitable.

"Quite honestly, I'm just very tired of it all."

"Of sex? What's wrong with you, man?"

"Not of sex. Of… of going out looking for sex. I don't know, I've never really liked the one-night stand business. You never quite know what you get, it's awkward as hell..."

"Ames, you realize that basically means you want a relationship."

"I don't know what I want," he groans quietly and rubs his face. He really needs that drink.

"Also relationships are pretty much a guarantee for regular sex."

"You sound like an infomercial."

"Right?" Matt beams, his eyes slightly glassy after his second beer. "Buy one, get one free," he jokes.

"Yeah, no. Wrong guy."

"It's a shame things didn't work out with Phanita. I mean honestly, what was wrong with you for not pursuing that?"

"India for one," he points out like it's a no-brainer.

"There are planes. She could've moved. Didn't seem to hate it here." Ambrose just squints at Matt.

"Can we stop assuming that women would even _want _to move for men? She is a successful business woman in her country, she's traveling internationally a lot. She's proud of it. Also we didn't have that kind of relationship."

"You didn't just fuck, Ames, come on. I'm not blind. It was the entire going out for dinner, weekend getaway, taking walks in Hyde Park kind of thing. It basically was an unlabeled relationship. You'd been seeing her for months."

"So what? We liked each other, we had an affair - that's not just about 'fucking' for me, Matt. I wanted her to feel comfortable and have a good time. And _I_ wanted to have a good time. That's more than meeting up and whipping it out. When she said she'd not be in the UK in the coming months we both knew it was over."

"Fine," Matt says quickly, holding up both hands in a _calm down_ gesture. If you ask him, Ambrose is getting terribly defensive over something that was nothing.

Finally the waitress returns with Ambrose's whisky. Again his phone buzzes on the table, Olivia's name flashes with another text message.

"She's persistent that one, eh?"

"Let it go, Matt," he mutters under his breath, tired of that conversation. Picking up his glass he swirls the dark golden liquid and noses it before he takes a small sip. _Now this_, he thinks, _is what he came for_.

…

Sometimes Ambrose thinks the house still smells like her. Claire. Like her sweet perfume still lingers here, preserved in the wallpapers and drapes she had once picked out. Claire had impeccable taste. He takes off his shoes in the hallway and leaves them in the shoe rack as he shrugs out of his coat on the way to the spacious living and dining area. Everything looks the same as it did twelve years ago, something Ambrose hadn't questioned up until now. After Claire's death, Ambrose had wanted to make no changes because of Amelia. Also, he had also found comfort in Claire's design choices for the house. He had lost his wife, but he still had all the things she had left them with to hold on to. He had made tiny changes in their bedroom after months. Had sorted through her many clothes to figure out what to donate and what to keep. It had taken him three attempts until he had finally given away all but a few selected personal items. Like her favorite sweater for cold winter days, her favorite jewelry. The red tank top she had given birth to Amelia in.

But here, downstairs, everything still looks the same. Like someone had taken a picture twelve years ago. His gaze falls on the leather sofa. They had purchased it when Amelia was five. He is hardly spending time here anymore so changing anything now is unnecessary, isn't it? He stays at the house once every four to eight weeks, usually not for longer than a week. His eyes flit across the room, to the coffee table, dining table, the book shelf that is still holding all of his wife's books, like she'd still actually read them. Ambrose wipes his mouth with the inside of his palm, sighs.

"What am I supposed to do, Claire?" he asks helplessly, his eyes restless as if he's looking for her ghost, waiting for some kind of sign that deep down he knows is not going to come. For a little while he just stands there, soaking in the silence until his phone buzzes in his pocket. Sighing he shakes his head, trying to shake what had just transpired off. _Who talks to their dead wife asking for signs?_

He pulls his cell from his back pocket and once again sees Olivia's name on the screen. The third message. He hadn't read either at the pub or on the way home. Almost like he had something to prove to himself. Discarding his coat over the arm of the family sofa, he opens his friend's messages.

**12/09/2019 8:41**

**Olivia**

_I like diversity. _

**12/09/2019 8:43**

**Olivia**

_Unless you're the walking cliché of a midlife crisis, needing to feel all young and vibrant once more. I'll stick with London Boy, it's very fitting then. I never got that vibe from you though :-p_

**12/09/2019 8:49**

**Olivia **

_I'm probably annoying you by now, but I'm on a quick break, grabbing a bite to eat, and I'm bored as hell. I still have court later, don't know if they'll call me to testify. I hope they don't need me. It usually means it doesn't look good. Have a beer for me, will ya? I bet by tonight I'll be beat and just fall into bed. Been catching this entire weekend, hence the radio silence. Which reminds me: your dinner yesterday looked GOOD. Don't they say British food is terrible? _

He smiles as he opens the three messages, feeling a little pang of guilt for not answering sooner. But he didn't want to give Matt the satisfaction or more ammunition to speculate on whatever it is between them - because it is nothing. They are friends. That's it. So he's smiling. What does that say? He likes Olivia and her company, likes how she makes him feel. That doesn't mean he wants to get in her pants or worse - that he's got an actual thing for her - feelings and all. It's just not like that.

**12/09/2019 10:58**

**Ambrose**

_You're probably in court by now. Good luck. Hoping for a good outcome. I just got home and am probably going to head in soon. Also: No midlife crisis I'm aware of (but is anyone?) I just happen to like London Boy. Dinner was EXCELLENT. Some of the food requires getting used to but there's some good stuff out there. I'm invited for breakfast tomorrow morning at a friend's house - gonna get the BEST Full English you can imagine. I might send a picture if I don't forget. Amelia would probably do this weird hashtag thingy and label it foodporn. I think she misses a proper English breakfast more than anything - veggie style that is. Lord knows what she's got against sausage. _

**12/09/2019 11:03**

**Ambrose**

_Oh, and I'll be on my way back on Wednesday. So, if you wanna get those drinks to celebrate… Sergeant. :-) _

When he is done typing, Ambrose puts the phone on the dinner table and sighs, thinking he should have gotten used to being alone by now. But it never feels quite right standing in this big house and knowing it's just him. Amelia has been here twice since their move to the US. Sometimes he wonders if he should just sell the place, but whenever that thought hits he instantly feels guilty. He loves the house. Loves what it reminds him of. And he hates that none of it exists anymore, that he's feeling more and more lonely when he stays, despite the things Claire has picked out, despite her smell, despite the beautiful and not so beautiful memories they have made here together.

He heads over to the bar and pours himself one more whisky before bed. With the glass in hand he makes his way to the book shelf that also holds the family photo albums. He picks one and sits down in the reading chair, taking a small sip as he opens the album. Instantly the past becomes part of his present. Claire, beautiful and radiant, is smiling back at him with a tiny bundle that's hardly recognizable as human in its dusky pink blanket. He had taken the picture three days after Amelia was born. Even without make-up and weary from long hours of labor, very little sleep and sore breasts from the milk coming in, Claire was absolutely gorgeous. On the next page it's him holding their new baby, proudly looking down at his daughter that already had a head of full black curly hair. "_She's all you",_ Claire had told him just a couple of hours after she had given birth. And she had been. But as the years had passed Amelia had started to look more and more like her mother. The color of her eyes had changed so much in the first year. At first they had been almost black, then a light brownish hue until finally they turned to green. Not exactly like Claire's. Claire's eyes had reminded him of tropical waters whereas Amelia's are almost cat like, a more subdued shade of green.

Turning page after page the memories all come flooding back. Until he reaches one of the back pages. One of the pictures, showing Claire with a five-year-old Amelia with braided hair and a missing lower incisor as they are standing in front of the house, both laughing, Claire's hand on their daughter's shoulders as they were about to go on one of their family trips to Brighton. Except they hadn't when the call had come, the receptionist at Claire's Doctor's office asking her to please come in after a routine mammographic screening. She had always been prone to cysts, so they had thought it couldn't hurt to stay on top of things.

Except this time it wasn't cysts.

Ambrose instantly feels the sting of tears and clears his throat as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

One day. One call.

They had fought it for three years. Cycle after cycle of chemo and radiation and surgeries to do damage control. They never fully got it. Not even the mastectomy had helped. And eventually Claire had been too tired and told him that it was enough. That she couldn't fight the cancer anymore. No more chemo. No more surgeries. No more experimental treatments they had been fortunate enough to be able to afford. She didn't want to die, she had said. But since she was going to anyway, she wanted nothing more to spend the time she still had left at home with her family, not in a hospital bed surrounded by doctors, nurses and other patients on the oncology ward. And he had cried and gotten angry with her for giving up although he had known it, too. That she wasn't going to make it no matter how many more rounds of treatment they'd go for, no matter how dedicated her doctor had been to get to the cancer by yet another surgery. She had cried, too and had reminded Ambrose how many times they had cut into her body in those two and a half years. And so he had taken her home three days later, defeated. To die. And despite everything he had seen during the time she had fought it, those six months of watching her waste away had been the most horrible thing he had ever experienced.

It had been a warm day in August when he had washed her gently and she had smiled at him weakly, almost unable to to do so anymore. Her smile had become a very rare thing. She had reached for his hand then, her breath labored, whispering to him that it was time. And nothing had prepared him for that moment. He had bargained for months, had prayed night and day _God, please don't take her from me_. He had told her no, no, not yet, not just yet. But she had just nodded slowly, the effort it took visible in her thin, exhausted face.

She had taken her last breath not two hours later in his arms, the whispered words on her tongue dying with her: _I love…_

He wipes at the tears he can't stop, wondering how any of it is fair. She was a good person. She was a wonderful mother and wife. And she had deserved more time. _They_ had deserved more time. Amelia. Him. Claire.

Ambrose angrily punches the arm of the chair with his clenched fist, then brings it to his mouth, exhaling shakily. He finishes his drink eagerly, not allowing the taste to settle in his mouth. He wants quick relief, not indulgence.

After a few more moments he shakes his head and closes the photo album. Getting up to put it back one other album in dark green binding catches his attention and intrigued he pulls it out, opening it as he's standing in front of the shelf. And indeed, after about twenty pages of Ambrose's childhood pictures he sees himself next to a tall brunette with a perm, bottle of beer in hand, talking to a blonde at what Ambrose remembers was a party at one of the dorms. At her sight he smiles. The hairdo was god awful, although probably the next big thing at the time. He himself sported a box fade, thinking he must have been way ahead of its time because it was super popular in the 90's. It was very The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air-esque. A few more pages in there is a clearer picture, both Olivia and Ambrose, arms around their shoulders in a chummy manner. They each hold a tall paper cup in their hands, a straw lazily caught between their lips. He had no idea that this picture still existed. In fact he can't remember ever seeing it before. Claire had always taken care of organizing pictures. She had told him she had made this album of his pictures, he just never looked at it until today.

Another one, Olivia and him in front of a computer. They hadn't used it often but he realizes they have spent a majority of their time together. There is a pink scrunchy in Olivia's hair. It's ridiculous to be thrown back in time roughly twenty-five years.

Another page. Another picture. For the first time Ambrose wonders if Claire has felt a pang of jealousy when she saw these photographs. There are four people, Ambrose between two other guys, Brent and… Oliver. Olivia is hoisted on Ambrose's shoulders wearing very short high waist shorts and a yellow top. They are both grinning from ear to ear, most likely with intoxication because Oliver and Brent are holding telling red plastic cups.

The next one is a group picture of twelve people. Ambrose leans forward and it's only his head poking in while Olivia is sitting on the other side, the hands of a boy wrapped around her middle. She is leaning against the young man intimately. Billy. Olivia had been dating him for about a year. He was a prick.

More pictures follow and Olivia Benson is in most of them, proof of how close they used to be. Ambrose had forgotten about all of it. Before he had met her in the bar he hadn't thought of her in two decades, if not longer. Never wasted a single thought on her. It makes him question what kind of friend he was. It's a typical story, one of the many out of sight - out of mind kind of things. But how did he just forget about someone he spent so much time with, someone he had cared about? And someone he had told Claire so much about in letters and phone conversations because he wasn't scared to admit to a friendship with a girl - it had always been strictly platonic.

He reaches the last page, the last picture of his childhood and of his college days. Pictures of his graduation had filled a few pages. Him receiving his diploma. A group picture of all the graduates. And finally Ambrose slow dancing with Olivia Benson at their graduation party in 1990, her in a dress, him in a second hand tuxedo. It's the only picture that brings actual memories with it.

"_Beer?" Olivia held a plastic cup out to him that he accepted with a small smile. _

"_Thanks." He scooted over and made some space for her on the small bench, looking at all the people that were enjoying themselves. _

"_You're a good guy, Ambrose," she said softly, resting her head against his left shoulder._

"_How so?" _

"_Well," she smiled. "For one you've had the same girlfriend all through college even though she's not in the same state and you have seen her what? Five, six times?" _

"_Five," he said heavily. Money had been an issue. It had been tough supporting himself through college, he couldn't afford to go and see Claire more often. _

"_Five," Olivia repeated. "And you managed not to be an asshole and cheat on her. And trust me, you had ample opportunity. Look at Billy. I was right here and he still fucked Stacy," she chuckled, half amused, half bitter, and glanced over at her ex with his new flame. _

"_Told you he's a bastard." _

"_That you did."_

"_I wish Claire could be here. We've been fantasizing about this for years, you know? How she'd be here for me and I'd be there for her graduation and we'd… we'd dance all night through." He took a gulp of beer. "And now she's not because that damned flight got canceled." _

"_I'm sorry," she whispered, mindlessly sliding her hand into his. _

"_Yeah, me too," he whispered back and held out the beer to Olivia that she gratefully accepted and drank. "Just so you know, you look beautiful tonight. I'm sure Billy's kicking himself because Stacy's dress is a total disaster." _

_This roused a hearty laugh from the young woman leaning against him. "Stacy is a total disaster, period," she decided and took a deep breath before she got up and stood in front of him, holding out her hand. "Come on." _

"_What?" He asked, puzzled. _

"_We're going to dance. All. Night. Through." Olivia smiled a brilliant smile, her dark eyes daring Ambrose. "Up. Now."_

"_Really?" _

"_Really. Tonight we're going to dance for the past years, for our degrees, for our friendship but most of all, we're going to dance for you and Claire." Ambrose looked at her. Olivia was joyous, which was all the encouragement he needed. So he took the proffered hand, took the beer from her, and put it on one of the free tables on their way to the dance floor. _

_They were dancing to upbeat songs for a long time until the first beats of Time After Time came through the speakers. Some people left the dancefloor, others naturally gravitated towards each other. Ambrose looked at Olivia insecurely and, after a couple of seconds, she merely shrugged. _

"_We might as well," she said easily and put her hand in Ambrose's. They stepped closer, and his hand came to rest against her slender hip to lead. Their bodies shifted into a comfortable but unfamiliar position between the two of them. Cindy Lauper started to sing and soon they were almost cheek to cheek, slowly swaying. _

"_Ambrose?" Her voice was tight all of a sudden now that he was holding her so close to slow dance. He had always liked the way she said his full name while everyone else had seemed to come up with some shorter nickname. _

"_Hm?"_

"_We're going to stay in touch right?" _

"_Of course we are," he said smiling against her ear, meaning it. _

"_Promise?" _

"_Promise." _

…

After a long while of staring at that last photograph, Ambrose closes the album thoughtfully. He wonders what had happened for him to forget about Olivia, someone he had considered his closest friend in college, as soon as he was back home, back with Claire. He had never once picked up the phone and called her, or sent a letter. Did he disappoint her by vanishing from her life like that? Did he let her down when he had moved on without ever looking back on the promise he had made?

He will have to ask her and face up to whatever she is going to tell him. Most of all however, he wants to make it up to Olivia. Getting up, he decides to take the album back with him to New York, to show it to Olivia

_..._

**End Notes: This one was very Ambrose-centric but I think his character needed some more introduction before we move along. As always I'm curious to find out what you think. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes: It's been a while. So, this and the next chapter stick like glue, I just wanted to break it up somewhere. Thank you to my lovely Amilyn for beta'ing. **

**...**

Olivia's phone rings and the groan that slips past her lips is the nicest of reactions between 'If this is work I'm going to to kill someone' and 'Goddamn...yes, I'm coming.' Turns out it's neither work nor any other unwelcome caller's ID her phone spits out. Still, she'd rather not have gotten up. Taking the call she greets Ambrose and flops back onto the sofa she has no intention to desert for at least a few more hours.

"Hey."

"Hey there. Having a good day so far?"

"Lazy Saturday. So good," she hums into the phone with a fair amount of exaggeration. They wanted to get together on Thursday, after Ambrose's return from London, only for SVU to get a call half an hour before their meeting. Double rape homicide. On top of their workload that one's a real joy to work, she thinks, trying not to dwell on the fact that they were fresh out of leads. So, with duty calling, they had agreed that maybe Saturday would be better.

"What are you doing?"

"Let's see. I had food. Sushi because why not, right? And now I'm on my couch, watching a guilty pleasure series on Netflix. It's one I'd never admit to watching, and I might have cursed at whoever was calling and interrupting my very peaceful binge watching experience." Come to think of it, it's past noon and while she had been up to get her phone, she might as well have picked up a glass of red to celebrate this rare peacefulness.

"That sounds very wholesome."

"You have no idea," she grins.

"So, the reason I'm calling… I've got tickets to some show. A musical I think. It's tonight, Amelia can't go and she may or may not have threatened me to take the tickets. Apparently they are good seats, too," he mutters a little haggardly, his mind still on the conversation he had with his daughter.

"Oh? What show?" Olivia asks with intrigue. While she loves the theatre in general, she can hardly remember when she'd last been. When she had still been seeing Brian sometime last year, she had once suggested the theater. Cassidy had looked physically sick at the mere idea of it. They had settled on the movie theater instead. It hadn't even been anything she had wanted to see. In a way, Liv thinks, that is her brief past relationship (they had never even labeled it that) with Brian Cassidy in a nutshell.

"Erm… wait… wait." Through the phone she can hear him shuffling, then there's a rustling sound like paper. "Um… Fun Home," he says. "I have no idea what it's about but Amelia says it's, and I quote 'the hottest thing off-broadway right now and you've got to see it'." Ambrose figures she had only offered him the tickets ("half the retail price, because clearly I'm not the one who's sickeningly well-off") because she thought he'd ask Sheila to go with him. And well, when Amelia had hinted he hadn't gone through the trouble of denying it and here they are. "So, I guess what I'm trying to ask is… are you in the mood to go?"

They had planned to go and get drinks, maybe grab a bite to eat, just as long as it would be casual. A musical or play, whatever it would turn out to be, doesn't necessarily scream casual but it certainly sounds promising.

"You know, that actually sounds like it could be fun."

"So that's a yes?" The eagerness in Ambrose's voice is infectious.

"That's a yes, Mister London Boy," she confirms, grinning from ear to ear as she hears him snort. "I kinda missed calling you that." The ease of talking to Ambrose is something she has tried to incorporate into her everyday life, (smile more, crack a few jokes at the station) with minimal success. Calling her friend London Boy should be getting old. Only it isn't. She will hold onto the tease until the day Ambrose nixes it. Judging from his reaction, that's not happening soon.

"Yeah? Funny, I kinda missed hearing it."

"See, that's how it goes when you're leaving all the time, pretending to work." Without even closing her eyes, she can see the white of his teeth when his laugh comes through the phone. For some reason it makes her think of the sun crawling up on the horizon after a very long, very dark night. Olivia's heart leaps happily at the divine timbre of his voice as he speaks.

"You make it sound like I never do anything."

"Well, do you?"

"I work from home a lot," he explains, bobbing his head left and right for a few moments. "Actually not a lot but… regularly."

Cackling Olivia bends her right knee and props the ankle of her left foot against it, looking up at the ceiling. "Nothing illegal I hope?" Liv realizes she has no idea what exactly Ambrose does.

"Nah. Plain, boring business matters. Work out contracts, schmooze the clients, prep for board meetings."

"That does sound boring," Liv concludes.

"Told you. Anyway, do I come and pick you up?"

"No," she snorts. "That'd be a hell of a detour."

"Not when I'm in Central Park."

"Are you in Central Park?" Olivia asks, glaring at her ceiling suspiciously.

"I could be," Ambrose offers easily with a hint of smugness dripping from his voice.

"Just meet me at the theatre."

"Liv, come on."

"I wasn't finished."

"Oh?"

"Meet me at the theatre and you can take me home."

"Ooh, that sounds promising," he teases and whistles.

Snorting with laughter she sits up. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" In the back of her head her wiser self whispers that this kind of innuendo between friends might not be a good idea. But like everything with Ambrose this, too, feels easy and harmless. With him she doesn't feel like her often way-too-serious self, and some ambiguity is nothing but good fun. Right? "I mean, it wasn't me hitting on you in that bar," she drawls, taking another little jab at that night when they first met again.

"I was not…"

"Hitting on me? Yes, you were?" She can hear him exhale heavily, knowing he's uncomfortable. "Just so you know? You got me on the wrong night."

For a moment there is silence.

"Wait, what is that supposed to mean?"

"You'll figure it out. Send me the details, yeah? See you later." And then she hangs up and closes her eyes, clamping a hand across her face.

_Oh my God. Did I really just say that? _

"Shit," she mutters into her open palm as she drags it to her mouth, then laughs. Now, she decides, it's really time for a glass of red, because let's face it: it is nine o'clock _somewhere._

...

"Liv, just…" The line is dead before he even starts and stunned, Ambrose looks at his phone, Olivia Benson's words playing in the back of his mind now with the memory still fresh.

_You got me on the wrong night. _

Does it mean what Ambrose thinks it means? And if it does, why on earth would she say it? And then hang up to leave him stranded. If this was a tease, it was a bold one. Or was it an attempt at flirting with him? Through the phone?

He shakes his head. No. That is not it. Because why would she flirt with him? This is what they do. It's all fun. Like the text messages they always send back and forth, bantering. Right?

Setting both hands against his sides, elbows out, he exhales through O-shaped lips and looks at his french bulldog as if the dog had answers. Homer merely grumbles, a strange sound between a growl and a snort. It doesn't sound dangerous at all. In fact it's rather adorable.

Ambrose squats and sinks his fingers in the black speckled fur, rubbing the dog's back and neck. Homer instantly trots a step closer and slumps down in front of his human's feet, enjoying every bit of affection. Scratching behind the bulldog's ears the animal melts and grunts with satisfaction.

The more he rolls Olivia's words around in his head, the more confusing it gets. Before Ambrose knows it, he's a middle aged man talking to his dog.

"You know, women are great. But you have no idea how complicated this stuff is. I mean, who says something like that and then hangs up?" Homer releases a long, staccato grunt, eyes almost rolling back in his head. "Yeah, I don't get it, either. I'm pretty sure she didn't try to say that any other night she would have you know… come home with me," Ambrose rambles on. "That would just be weird," Ambrose shakes his head as if the thought is ridiculous.

The implications sure would be. Because why on earth would Liv say it now, months later? What would the hint mean for them after all this time?

"You don't think she's suggesting anything, do you, Homes?" The dog only rolls around onto his side, ready for a belly rub. Ambrose blows out a breath and scratches his forehead when it goes through his head: _Jesus, what if she IS suggesting something? _

The mere thought makes Ambrose's palms go sweaty within a second and his heart thumps quickly. Clearly Olivia is an attractive woman. In fact, attractive doesn't even begin to cover it. There is a reason she had immediately caught his eye when she entered the bar, after all. But even then he hadn't started talking to her for sex first and foremost. He had wanted company. Once they had realized they had known each other long before meeting at the bar, after Olivia had pretty much shot him down, but then again not quite, she has become a friend, a fixture in his otherwise rather lonely life in New York. Would he take a chance and wreck that? Lose the one person he had here besides Amelia?

Friends with benefits exist. Ambrose knows from experience that it is a concept that can work well. He is still in touch with Phanita and they had started out as friends before it had quickly become more. Even after it had ended almost three years ago, neither of them had regrets.

The big difference however is that, if things had ended badly with Phanita, there wouldn't have been much of a loss involved for him. Liv is the only person he has here friendship wise. It's not London where he has a handful of very good friends to fall back on. In a worst case he'd lose the one person that stopped him from regretting the move to New York City every single day.

_What am I even thinking about, _Ambrose chastises himself. Olivia hasn't propositioned anything. She merely suggested something _could have_ happened, had he started talking to her any other night. But he hadn't and so it is a thing of the past. Nothing between them changes. And he wouldn't want it to, Ambrose tries to convince himself.

He gently presses his fingers into the back of Homer's bat like ears and rubs in tiny circles. The bulldog hums with contentment.

„She had me quite confused there, hm? Tell you what, you dogs have it a lot easier just sniffing each other."

Homer pants, showing no sign that he is listening.

„Right. Hunan," Ambrose refers to himself first. „Canine. You don't really care, do you? Not like you understand what I'm saying anyway," he sighs softly. For a few more seconds Ambrose pets his dog, then he gets up (under Homer's displeased eyes on his every move as he grumbles) and sends Olivia all the details for the show.

…

When Ambrose walks towards Olivia in the lobby of the Public Theatre, shrugging out of his winter coat she does a double take, wondering if she is underdressed. He is wearing a dark blue suit that is clearly tailored to perfection and a burgundy dress shirt. The color combination complements the tone of Ambrose's skin. She thinks he might as well walk a red carpet dressed like that, and frankly, he looks incredible.

"Well, look at you." Olivia's eyes rake over his entire body, head to toe and back up, nodding appreciatively.

"I'd rather look at you," Ambrose compliments around his trademark smile, taking in his friend's appearance. Black pants, a blouse a shade of dark plum with sheer long sleeves and a lightly ruffled mock neck. Olivia's shoulder-length hair is straight except for a light twist to keep the long bangs out of her face. Her makeup is subtle, a shade of nude accenting her lips. There's just a hint of eyeliner highlighting Olivia's upper lash line. While she looked fantastic the night they met at the bar he likes this more natural look on her much better. Moving in slowly, he puts one hand on her waist, pulling the brunette into a brief hug that allows him to absorb the sweet yet sophisticated scent of orange blossoms softened by a round vanilla. The fragrance feels like he's inhaling the essence of the afternoon sun straight from Olivia's skin. Her pumps make her a couple of inches taller.

"Am I underdressed?" she mumbles as he releases her.

"You're perfect. I wasn't sure what to wear and this was the first thing in the closet that didn't seem too casual for the theatre," he explains. He had left the tie at home to not make the look come off too stiff. "Shall we get a drink at the _The Library?_" The restaurant and bar is tucked away on the mezzanine of the theatre. Ambrose wouldn't know about it if Amelia hadn't pointed out he and his date might enjoy food and drinks before or after the show. "We still have about fifty minutes before we have to take our seats."

"Drinks sound good," Olivia agrees. "I'm not sure if they'll have a place for us without a reservation. It's usually pretty packed, especially before and after shows."

"We have a reservation. Well, Amelia has. Since it's in her name I figured we might as well take it. It beats waiting for almost an hour."

"Oh. Okay," Olivia smiles as Ambrose motions towards the stairs.

It's quite noisy in the restaurant as they step in. The maitre d' greets them and guides them towards a small table once he finds the reservation for Williams. It is crowded this early before the show with people enjoying dinner before the show.

A waitress greets them with the food and drink menu before she promises to be with them soon as she sashays to a table in the back.

"I doubt we're going to finish off a bottle of wine in forty-five minutes between the two of us, eh?" They only serve the Barolo he has set his eyes on by the bottle.

"That depends on how fast you can drink," Olivia laughs, tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear.

"Let me ask like this then: Red wine or something stronger?"

Olivia, licking her bottom lip, gazes at him intently. It's a pretty easy choice. "Wine."

"That's settled then."

He scoots a little closer towards the table, folding his hands. As he looks at her, grinning, it's almost like the young man from Siena is in front of her, despite the perfectly trimmed beard and much more muscular body. It makes him look taller, which, although not a character trait, is something that attracts Olivia. She wouldn't rule out dating someone who is shorter than her, but when the opportunity presents itself, she'd always choose tall. There's just something alluring about a man that can tower over her without trying.

After a terribly long moment he finally speaks first and Olivia blushes as if Ambrose might have read her, aware she was thinking about his physique.

"So, you're Sergeant now," he says happily and Olivia chuckles and nods as if it's not old news to her by now.

"Yeah. It's even official now. I'm sworn in-had the ceremony and everything."

„When?"

"Day before yesterday."

"And you didn't say anything?" Ambrose sounds genuinely surprised that she has never uttered a word about the ceremony.

"It's really not such a big deal," Olivia quickly assures. "These things are really boring."

His eyes widen slightly, his gaze fixating her. "Of course it's a big deal. You'd better be proud of your achievement, woman." Then he cocks his head, his voice dropping as he speaks from across the table. "Unless you slept your way up the ladder." The hint of a smile tipping the corner of his lips up gives away that he's not at all serious.

"Of course not," she replies instantly, wondering if he actually takes her for one of these women. These things do happen, it's no secret. There are plenty of women everywhere ready to fuck for favors. Olivia just never thought people would think she falls into that category.

"Yeah, I didn't think so," he assures. "Which proves my point. It's a pretty big deal. At least to me. I wish you would've said something."

The waitress is back at their table, ready to take their orders. Ambrose tells the young woman to please bring over a bottle of Barolo. It's one of the more expensive wines on the menu.

"I hope that's okay?" The waitress is already leaving and it occurs to Ambrose that maybe it's a little late to check in with Liv.

"Barolo? More than okay," she nods but feels a little knot in her stomach. She hasn't paid much attention to the wine selection but has a feeling this is going to be an expensive indulgence.

"If we're going to celebrate, we're going to do it right."

Obviously. She might as well just enjoy the wine now that the damage is done. She has bigger problems after all, with those invitation for a belated housewarming she had passed around the squad a few weeks ago. It's tempting to try and take the edge off. Try not to think of how she is going to thoroughly embarrass herself in front of her friends and co-workers. In a fit of momentary insanity she had thought throwing a dinner party as a belated housewarming and celebration of passing the Sergeant's exam (and not doing too badly, might she add) is a terrific idea. Now however, with less than 24-hours to pull the whole thing off? She's not so sure.

"Right," Liv agrees with a tight smile, wringing her hands.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," she breathes. "I just have this party tomorrow - a dinner party kind of thing? And I think I bit off a little more than I can chew," she grimaces. Anyone who knows Olivia Benson knows she doesn't usually play hostess. She hardly ever has visitors, and if she does it's rarely more than one person at a time. So cooking for six, herself included, is uncharted territory. What had seemed like a good idea a few weeks ago now feels like a terrifying threat looming on the horizon. She's not so much worried about Fin or Rollins. They aren't picky, nor do they seem to care about fancy stuff. But in her brainstorm she had not only invited Cragen, she had insisted he bring Eileen.

"Oh, that sounds," Ambrose starts, wanting to say 'like fun', but seeing her face he thinks better of it. "Challenging."

"I'm going to mess this up so bad, you have no idea," she says, chuckling humorlessly as she sets her elbows on the table, raking her fingers through her hair, careful not to mess it up.

"Why? I mean, what's the problem?"

She huffs shortly and shrugs her shoulders. "Everything?"

"I need you to be a little more specific than that," Ambrose encourages as the waitress brings the wine and pours each of them a glass.

"I'm not sure about the menu," she looks up at the waitress, thanking her. "I have no idea in terms of time management, and while I don't think I'm a total disaster in the kitchen, I have a feeling that this is going to blow up in my face. It's just too much in a very short timeframe. Also my boss is bringing his partner and she's a sophisticated, very nice lady with… expectations? I think. Anyway, I just… have a feeling I'm going to thoroughly embarrass myself tomorrow." Picking up her glass she noses the dark red wine, closing her eyes at the rich aroma.

"Break it down."

"Break what down?" Olivia asks as Ambrose picks up his glass as well.

"The menu. If you feel like it's too complex, break it down. You don't need to try and serve a complicated dish. You can keep it simple. Make things that are easy to prep, you don't want to spend all evening by the stove. Make something that allows you to enjoy your guests. What is your plan for a main course?"

Pursing her lips Olivia lets his words sink in for a moment but even if she tried to change her menu last minute, she wouldn't know where to start and what to substitute the food with. "Um… porcini risotto?" She makes it a question, insecure enough at this point.

"Yeah, no. Don't do that. You're going to stand there and stir and stir and stir forever. It's nothing that preps well because if you warm it up it tastes like crap, at least in my opinion."

"Well thanks, that really helps," Olivia says sarcastically. As if she didn't already know the risotto isn't going to work in her favor.

"Why don't go with a simple pasta dish? Get fresh pasta, cook an authentic sauce. It'll take exactly ten minutes and six of those you can spend mingling as the water comes to a boil.

"And spend half my day finding new recipes," she says heavily. But it doesn't seem like she has much of a choice.

"Olivia, if you want, I'll help. I'm a pretty decent cook if I say so myself. And I can think of a few options right off the top of my head that'll make this much easier than you can imagine."

"What are you, a wizard?" she asks around a small laugh of disbelief. A good looking man that is, as it sounds, successful, well-mannered, has impeccable style and knows how to cook? Olivia knows from experience what a rare breed that is.

"Just a single, middle-aged man with too much time on his hands."

"That you spend cooking?"

"Among other things," he nods. "But yeah, I've started cooking more in the past few years."

Olivia wonders if it comes with the territory once you're divorced and don't have anyone to depend upon. But she is not going to throw Ambrose's failed marriage in his face. Instead she tries to focus on his offer. Having some help doesn't sound like a bad idea. At all. If it means her dinner plans won't end up a total disaster, she's more than willing to accept a helping hand. And, which goes down on the plus side, Ambrose is great company. If she won't mind spending a couple of hours of her day with anyone, he's her first choice.

"So, let me condense this. You can cook and want to help me put together a dinner party that won't have my entire squad laugh at my expense for however long we're going to work together?"

"Sounds doable, so yes. Always at your services," he smiles, raising his glass a little, waiting for her to do the same for a toast.

"Well, in that case let me tell you that you are a lifesaver, and I'll gladly be saved." Her cheeks tinge a light shade of pink as she too raises her glass.

"To you, Liv. Congratulations."

"Thank you," she says softly, taking a sip of the Barolo. It's a complex and layered wine, heavy on dark fruit with menthol and licorice notes. It's a heavenly drop if Olivia has ever tasted one. "Wow," she says appreciatively, nodding her head in favor of his choice.

"Good, isn't it?"

"It's incredible. Honestly puts the averaged priced stuff I usually buy to shame." By usually buy she means the sort of wine she can afford. Of course she has treated herself to a better bottle for her birthday in the past but even then she hadn't spent more than forty bucks on a bottle.

He turns the bottle and checks out the label. "This is a rather rare one. I think only 4.500 bottles were made. That year was a terrible vintage."

That small knot in Olivia's stomach? It's not so small anymore. Try a fist-sized lump. She really wishes she had checked out the price list before agreeing to that particular wine. While it sure is worth every penny, after shopping for the dinner party and the stupid christmas gift exchange they had somehow agreed to after a lot of Carisi's nagging, Olivia isn't positive she can afford her share of the bottle now that she's pretty much out of savings after putting a downpayment on the condo.

When Ambrose looks at her quizzically, Olivia puts a small smile on her face, hoping he doesn't pick up on her discomfort. After two more sips of wine (that still blow her mind), she decides to change the subject.

"So, what are you doing for Christmas?" She doesn't ask without motive. Seeing that she's alone and he's single, although with a daughter in the city, she is hoping that he's free at some point during the holidays. Christmas is a particularly lonely time for her. She wouldn't mind the company.

"I'll be in London, actually. Friends invited us over and I didn't want to go at first but Amelia doesn't get to take all the trips to London I do, so," he shrugs briefly. "She wants to see her friends. And her grandparents, so who am I to say I won't go with."

"Right. That makes sense." Liv hates it. He just came back a few days ago, and here is his, practically on the next plane. "What about the dog?"

"He's going to stay with friends of Amelia's. It's only going to be for a few days. We're leaving on the 23rd, I'll take a plane back on the 27th. Amelia wants to stay for New Year's, but I'm really not up for it. I doubt I'll see much of her besides Christmas Day anyway." He doesn't sound excited for the holidays. While Ambrose is looking forward to spending Christmas Day with Amelia, Tilda, Matt and their children he is pretty tired of the constant flying back and forth between London and New York. He's been doing it for more than two years now. So every trip he can avoid is more than welcome. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yes, what are you doing for Christmas?"

"Oh. Actually… I… I don't know." It sounds as desolate as it feels.

"Are you not going to spend the holidays with family?" Ambrose's tone is more compassionate than curious, which only proves how pitiful her life is, especially around this time of the year.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Olivia crosses her arms on the table top, quickly glancing down. "I don't have much family left." Trying to remember if she had ever mentioned if she has grown up without a father, she decides not to mention a male parent. "My mother died a long time ago. There's a half brother but we're…" Thinking of Simon makes Olivia's stomach plummet. Years ago she had longed for a good relationship with him and now, after he had only made her life difficult and had used her when in trouble, thinking of him makes her feel completely… void. "It's complicated."

"I'm sorry." While Ambrose is not all too happy about the trip involved, Olivia seems to have it much worse. At least he will be surrounded by the people he loves. He can't even envision what it must be like not to have someone, to be alone during a time that focuses on family so much.

"It's okay. I'm used to it. It comes in quite handy with the job. Somebody has to be on call, might as well be someone who doesn't have family obligations." Liv sounds serene although she is anything but. Not if she is being honest with herself.

Scrutinizing her, Ambrose squints at Olivia. He doesn't buy into her indifference but doesn't want to call her out on it, either. Not when he can't be sure how much damage it will do. Everybody has their sore spot, and Ambrose knows better than anyone that it shouldn't be poked carelessly.

"If it's any consolation? Amelia's going to drag me to her grandparent's house on the 26th and I'm going to silently suffer through every little jab they sure have in store for me."

"In-laws, hm? They sound like a dream," Olivia says sarcastically, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Let's see: they are passive-aggressive, more or less racist and the most obstinate people I've ever crossed paths with. So yeah, a dream just about covers it," he summarizes dryly.

"Hard to say who of us wins crappiest Christmas, huh?" If his ex-wife is going to be at her parent's house as well, it doesn't seem to bother Ambrose. Good for them. Olivia figure divorce is hard enough without a war. Since they are parents it is in everyone's interest that they get along.

"That sounds about right," Ambrose chuckles. "Cheers to crappy Christmases."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes: And here we are with the second part. Just so you know: Fun Home was a breathtaking masterpiece of a musical. You can watch it (in rather poor quality) on vimeo or just check out the soundtrack, especially 'Changing My Major', 'Ring of Keys', 'Days and Days' and 'Telephone Wire'. But really, the entire soundtrack is amazing. Once again thank you to Amilyn for being a fantastic, kick-ass and FUN beta. I hope you guys are going to like it. As always I am curious for your thoughts. **

**Enjoy! **

...

Thirty minutes later they have taken their seats. Ambrose had paid for the wine, not asking her to split the tab. Olivia had been so relieved she hadn't put up much of a fight when he insisted she sit her butt back down when she had gotten up while opening her purse.

The lights go out. Quiet conversations fall away. For a few moments it is eerily quiet in the theater until music starts, spotlights light up the stage and with it a child, a girl, who can't be more than ten years old, a small orchestra in the back, the story begins. There is a desk, a boy behind it, older than the girl in a striped pullover and jeans, and a cardboard box. That little girl fiercely starts to sing about wanting to play airplane until her father interrupts her, asking the children to give him a hand. He starts unpacking the box, talks and sings about the treasures inside that his family, and any other normal person would refer to as crap. It then turns out the person Olivia assumed was a boy, turns out to be a woman. Not any woman, but the little girl, years later as an adult, remembering the exact scene they had just seen.

Going into a musical you don't know the first thing about can be quite… surprising.

The opening comes to the conclusion with the adult version of Alison, the protagonist, summarizing as the young version is hoisted on her father's feet, up in the air, arms outstretched:

"_Caption: My Dad and I were exactly alike. Caption: My Dad and I were nothing alike. My Da-, my Dad and I… Caption: Sometimes my father appeared to enjoy having children but the real object of his affection was his house." _

The stage setting changes, the audience gets a glimpse into what life was like in protagonist Alison's, house growing up. Her father, an English teacher, who also ran the family business, The Bechdel Funeral Home, and treated the house like a museum.

"_Caption: my dad and I both grew up in the same, small Pennsylvania town. And he was gay and I was gay and he killed himself. And I… became a lesbian cartoonist." _

The story doesn't follow chronological order, Alison's memories are jumbled and all over the place, some of her childhood, others of her college days. _Fun Home_, an autobiographical creation about growing up in a dysfunctional family, coming of age, and finding one's identity.

The entire production is as thrilling as it is heartbreaking, and although Olivia can't fully identify with Alison's story, there are still many things Olivia can relate to and take with her and it seems so can Ambrose.

When young Alison sings about feeling kinship with a butch woman she sees in a diner, using the only words a child can to describe how she wants to be just like the stranger who has walked through the door, seems to touch Ambrose.

_I thought it was s'pposed to be wrong _

_But you seem okay with being strong_

_I want to… _

_It's so… _

_It's probably conceited to say_

_But I think we're alike in a certain way_

_I… um… _

_Your swagger and your bearing_

_And the just-right clothes you're wearing_

_Your short hair and your dungarees and your lace up boots _

_And your keys_

_Your ring of keys _

Ambrose's struggle is more visible by the second. As beautiful and captivating the young girl's performance on stage is, it is hard for Olivia to take her eyes off of Ambrose. Her hand moves closer towards his but in the last second she balls it to a fist and falters, then pulls back as he exhales shakily with his emotions.

_Do you feel my heart saying hi _

_In this whole luncheonette _

_Why am I the only one who sees you're beautiful…_

_No, I mean… __**handsome **_

Olivia sees him trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably as he wipes a stray tear away.

It's a completely different reaction from the squirming embarrassment he'd displayed when Alison, in college, first slept with a girl and belted how she'd be "_changing her major to sex with Joan"_ in nothing but a shirt and boyshorts.

While the presence of that very young girl on the stage is mindblowing from an artistic standpoint, Olivia can't help but feel that this touches on something much more personal for Ambrose.

The rollercoaster of emotions continues on as Alison's mother admits to her daughter that her father had extra-marital affairs with men-sometimes even underage boys-since they have been together and adult Alison remembers fights her parents used to have when she was still a kid.

And then, unexpectedly, it gets under Olivia's skin, too. Adult Alison goes through the last car ride with her late father, thinking of everything they could have, _should have_ talked about before he committed suicide, hoping for a different outcome. This, Liv understands. How many times had she played her last conversation with her mother over in her head, hoping that somehow, if only she wishes hard enough, hopes hard enough, Serena would say all the things Olivia needed to hear. That after all these years she'd get answers to questions she never dared ask.

Seeing Alison holding onto that last one-on-one conversation with her dad so desperately, in search of answers, in the hope that he finally sees her, is heartbreaking. And realizing that a part of her is still holding on as well is Olivia's undoing as Beth Malone hopelessly concludes to her ghosts:

_Telephone Wire_

_Stop! Too Fast! _

_Telephone Wire_

_Make this not the past_

_This car ride _

_This is where it has to happen _

_There must be some other chances_

_There's a moment I'm forgetting…_

_Where you tell me you see me _

_Say something, talk to me! _

_Say something! Anything! _

_At the light_

_At the light… _

_This can't be our last- _

With a lump in her throat and a quivering chin Olivia clenches her lips, trying not to sob into the otherwise quiet space of the audience. Unable to disconnect from her own experiences she cries freely. She doesn't go completely unnoticed, though, because, as her walls crumble, Ambrose takes hold of her hand and holds it tight while adult Alison starts to wonder about the motives for her father's suicide.

_What did it feel like to step in front of a truck, Dad? _

_What does it feel like to see it coming right at you and not move and just let it hit you? _

_Why? Was it because of me? _

_I'm afraid it wasn't. _

_That's the crazy thing, Dad. _

_I'm afraid it wasn't. _

The parallels are eerily similar. Well, actually they wouldn't be to anyone else but they sure are to Olivia. Every single hair on her body stands on end.

_What did it feel like to tumble down the subway stairs, Mom? _

_What did it feel like to talk to your daughter, tell her you aren't drinking? _

_Was it because of him?_

_I'm afraid it wasn't. _

_That's the crazy thing, Mom. _

_I'm afraid it wasn't. _

And God…

_Before you died, did you even think of me? And if so… did you think of me with love? _

The play comes to its final conclusion with all three Alison's, small, middle and adult Alison sing "Flying Away," finishing with:

"_Caption: Every so often there was a rare moment of perfect balance when I soared above him." _

The auditorium drowns in applause and standing ovations, giving Olivia a moment to take a deep breath and pull herself together. She feels shaky as she wipes under her eyes, taking away the wetness and probably some mascara. The ongoing clapping allows her to clear her voice. Looking at Liv, Ambrose leans in closer, so she can hear him over all the commotion.

"Had something in your eye there?"

She cracks a small, watery smile at him in agreement.

"Yeah, me too," he murmurs, wrapping an arm around her, rubbing her upper arm in consolation. While he doesn't know what exactly triggered this reaction, he is sure it deeply personal - just like it had been for him.

Once they are back in the lobby Olivia excuses herself and heads for the restroom. Luckily she doesn't look like a complete mess. She has years of experience with quick but hard crying fits that don't leave her eyes puffy. When she had been as young as six years old and she was crying because she was sad or scared, her mother, when drunk, had yelled at her to _stop bawling_. Olivia had learned that lesson quickly once Serena had slapped her at age seven when she hadn't been able to calm herself down at her mother's vodka-fueled demand. Ever since then it has become second nature. Olivia Benson can cry it out within twenty, thirty seconds, no problem. Whether it was in her college days after finding out Billy had been cheating on her with Stacy McKinnley, or after failing a long distance track race, her horrifying encounter with Lowell Harris in a basement during her undercover stint at Sealview, or her partner throwing in the towel without talking to her her first-or ever again for that matter-her emotional breakdowns were always quick and efficient. Olivia Benson would wipe the tears from her cheeks and tuck her feelings away. For the most part she'd be as good as new and no one any the wiser. When her life seems to fall apart, that's when she fully expects an abrupt outburst of tears. That a show causes one however, that's new.

Hell, she hadn't even cried during the infamous 'The Circle Of Life' when she had gone to see _The Lion King_ many years ago and it had seemed the entire theatre was crying ugly tears then, making her feel like an alien, so call her thrown.

_Fun Home_ had touched on rawer emotions than any large production Olivia has ever seen, seemingly pushing that very button for people, no matter their life experiences.

Checking her appearance in the mirror she moves in close and uses a paper towel to wipe some of her run mascara away. Olivia applies a fresh coat of lipstick, a little more pleased with her reflection. She pushes out a breath through pursed lips, almost ready to face the world outside-and Ambrose.

This close to Christmas, Liv thinks about her mother a lot. They had nice Christmases during her childhood up until the time Olivia had gone to bed for the night. As far as she can remember Serena had held back with the alcohol throughout the day, except a couple of glasses of wine. During that time of year Olivia had actually felt loved. She had felt happy. Her mother had really, really tried for Christmas. They had put up a Christmas tree, albeit a small one, every year on the evening of the 24th, lit candles all over the living room of their small apartment, and hung star shaped lights in the window that cast a beautiful glow all over the room. One year Serena had even crafted ornaments from salt dough, and they colored them together. Her mom had quite a hand for mandala patterns. Throughout all the hours they were busy she hadn't even had a single drink.

Some years they had baked Christmas cookies that tasted like sweet heaven.

By the time Olivia was a teenager the traditions faded into the background. There was still the small, decorated tree and presents but the jolly times were definitely over. Serena no longer bothered to hold back with the alcohol, either. The days had started with the wine and ended with the vodka. Olivia had longed to recreate the beautiful childhood memories but from age thirteen on it had never been the same. Despite her best intentions Olivia never quite managed to get into the Christmas spirit like most people around her. One year the Stablers had invited her over for Christmas dinner, but Olivia couldn't motivate herself to go and be confronted with the things she would likely never have.

So this shove into the past, wondering about all the things Olivia wanted Serena to say, needed to say to her before she died? It has been a little too much to simply swallow and deal with at home instead of an auditorium full of people.

A few more moments and Liv combs her fingers through her hair, making sure everything is in place as she takes one last, deep breath. Eventually she pivots and heads towards the door that is opened when she reaches for the doorknob. A woman that is about to enter almost knocks it into Liv's head, rattling the brunette even more. Apologies are made before Olivia slips out and stalks across the lobby with her head held high.

Ambrose is already waiting for her with her coat. She thinks he is looking at her with the gnawing suspicion that she's not entirely okay, so she puts on a smile. He doesn't need to know that she is anything but fine. The last thing she wants is for Ambrose to know about her confusing and muddled emotions that are all in shades of glaring red, readily waiting to haunt her tonight and leave her sleepless. So, she puts on a smile, realizing half of it is genuine as Ambrose opens up her coat to help her in like the gentleman he is. A rare breed indeed.

Outside it's cold. The chill of the night makes Olivia shiver. She curses that she didn't think to take her gloves and buries her hands in her coat pockets as they walk down Lafayette side by side.

"Good show, wasn't it?" When Ambrose speaks Olivia tilts her face towards him and nods. The fresh air finally allows her think and be back in the moment, not somewhere in the past.

"Very," she agrees with a small, content smile, trying to ignore how her body stiffens from cold. Half a bottle of wine has worn off by now and she aches for the welcome warmth of another drink. "Are you still up for drinks?" It's not even ten and Olivia is not ready to go home and be alone with herself and her thoughts. And Ambrose is the one person she wants to keep them off her mind.

"Absolutely." He is being agreeable, which is just what Olivia needs tonight. They take a left turn, heading down East 4th, neither of them having an actual plan where to go. For now Olivia is comfortable to just walk.

"Anywhere specific you want to go?" They could take a cab and head to Midtown, closer to where Olivia lives. Reluctantly she shrugs.

"Maybe let's just walk a bit, see where we'll end up."

"Okay." He too sinks his hands in his pockets for warmth as they walk on but they don't get far before Olivia speaks up as they pass one of the many eateries in the area.

"God, I could kill for fries right now." She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the greasy smell of fries wafting around them hit her as a small group of people left the bar and grill they just walked past. Her stomach growls.

"Wanna go and grab a bite then?"

"If you don't mind," Liv says around an apologetic tone.

"Not at all." They turn and Ambrose leads Olivia inside. The place has a diner and bistro kind of vibe, rustic and casual. It is crowded but there are a few free tables in between. They slide into a small booth for two by the outsized windows. It is warm in here and Olivia shrugs out of her coat.

"Looks nice," she says easily. Mainly, judging from the plates that the people around them have in front of them, the food looks good. The last meal she had was for lunch. It feels like there's a big, gaping hole in her stomach. A waiter comes over and brings them the drink and dinner menus. For a moment they both are engrossed in the options.

They go for the house burger and a shared side of fries, ketchup for Ambrose, chili-cheese dipping sauce for Olivia. The wine selection isn't the best but they decide on a bottle of Pinot Noir anyway. Right now neither of them wants a strong drink.

By the time the wine arrives Olivia's mind wanders back to a question she had asked herself since Ambrose asked her to go see _Fun Home. _After a couple of sips she works up the courage to ask.

„So, was I your emergency backup tonight?" If she is, Liv doesn't mind. She got the best wine and a great musical out of it. How could she ask for more?

„My what?" Ambrose, chuckling, wonders how she gets that idea.

„Well, I just thought with getting the tickets on such short notice the person you asked first didn't have time." Liv is fishing for information and probably she's way too obvious about it. But what the hell, she wants to know. What she gets is a pointed and slightly amused stare.

„What makes you think I asked someone else first? We already decided to get drinks. I wasn't going to cancel."

„There's always a raincheck," she shrugs, trying to go for nonchalance. But it bugs her that Ambrose plays it so close to the vest.

„What if I tell you I had no intention to ask anyone else?" There's the hint of smugness in his smile and it looks damn fine on him. The thought makes a blush creep on Olivia's cheeks. Quickly she takes a sip of wine.

„Not even the woman you're dating?" It's out before Olivia can stop herself. She just hopes desperately that it doesn't come off like she's jealous or bothered by it, because clearly she is not. _Clearly_.

„I'm not dating anyone," he says slowly, but the penny drops. Before his latest trip to London they couldn't get together because she had work obligations and he had a date with Sheila. „It was one date. It's not going to… you know?"

„Oh. I'm sorry, I assumed when you said it went well that you…" That's the thing about assumptions. Sometimes you are far off.

„It was a good date, I'm just not really interested," Ambrose explains, folding his hands, wondering how much he should tell his friend. „It wasn't so much for me, actually. Amelia thought it would be a good idea to ask her out. She's… a neighbor. Anyway, it's complicated. Or… actually it's easy. I won't be seeing her again. I guess Amelia expected I'd ask her, though." With his next thought he chuckles. „Of course my dating history leaves a lot to be desired, she might as well have given me the tickets because she thinks I'm closeted as well."

Olivia raises an eyebrow, wondering where that just came from.

„I'm not," he tells her, shrugging casually.

„Happens more often than you'd think," Liv shrugs. She doesn't get that kind of vibe from Ambrose but then that's not surprising. Closeted people manage to keep the truest version of themselves buried from the people closest to them, often for decades. There is no telling. There probably isn't even a vibe to get.

„It does?"

„Well, I'm probably a little over-exposed, but I've come across many closeted men on the job." She also used to date one a long time ago, but Ambrose doesn't need to know about that. „It's always tragic. Either it keeps them from reporting a crime, because they can't testify without having their lives turned upside down, or it comes out and destroys an entire family," she shakes her head, lips tight. „Really isn't fair to anyone."

„No, it's not," Ambrose agrees thoughtfully. There is a definite shift in the mood. Ambrose, playing with his wine glass, swallows visibly. His mind is back on the play they have seen tonight, on realizations he never had before.

„Ambrose?" She starts to wonder if his joke wasn't just that. Maybe he had tried to tell her something and then panicked. The fact he used to be married to a woman and having a child with her, or him coming on to women at a bar? Doesn't mean _anything. _Jesus, she had dated and slept with a gay man and she had no idea, no moment of suspicion at the time. When she had found out and gone over it again and again, she wondered if the little interest he had in sex should have been a giveaway, but Olivia had blamed it on a lack of chemistry then.

_No shit, your lady parts definitely had a thing or two to do with not having been his type. _

When he looks up at her, she decides to just ask. Her voice drops a little and she leans in closer to make sure no-one will overhear their conversation.

„Are you gay?" It would make sense with how emotional he got during Alison's first moment of realization, or how uncomfortable he felt about the display of two women kissing and crawling under the covers together. She thinks she has never seen him so stunned. Just when she is about to tell him it's okay if he is, he starts laughing softly.

"Sorry. For a moment I actually thought about this and it's… I think I can say I am definitely not gay," he assures, then draws in a breath. "My daughter's gay," he adds with an exhale. He doesn't usually go around telling people about it lightheartedly. Not because he's uncomfortable with it, but because he is a firm believer that it's not his place, even though Amelia is out.

"Oh." Well, that explains things, too. Just in a completely different way. She isn't sure what to make of this revelation. Olivia herself identifies as straight-her interest in the same gender starts and ends with one girl-crush during young adulthood-and to her it makes no difference who someone loves. She does not want to jump to conclusions again. Maybe he is fine with it, maybe he's struggling for whatever reason. So instead of asking how he feels about his daughter's sexuality, she tries something a little more non-committal. "Have you known for long?"

In an instant he seems to be more at ease and leans back in the small booth, eyes softening on Olivia.

"I pretty much suspected it. All of her friends were actively dating, having first, second or third boyfriends. Our house was always a gathering place, I heard way more than I probably should have and trust me, some of it… geez, just makes you want to lock your kid in its room and throw away the key," he says heavily.

"I can only imagine," Olivia smiles sympathetically. Again she has a good idea of it because of her job. Dealing with sexually active teenagers might as well be her job description at times; it definitely helps when they are at least engaging in it out of free will, which doesn't automatically mean they have the law on their side. Statutory rape is is routine part of Olivia's day. However, she does understand the other side, the emotional side, as well. She had planned to marry a 21 year-old at age 16, after all.

"Anyway, Amelia wasn't dating. Not much, anyway. She'd been out with a boy or two, but I don't think it ever went beyond a first date. She never seemed to be very comfortable discussing boys, either." Their food arrives and Ambrose pauses until their server leaves the table. The burgers and fries look delicious.

"So, it wasn't that huge, shocking revelation?" Olivia smiles at the choice of her words and he shakes his head no as he takes a fry runs it through the small serving of ketchup.

"That she likes girls? No. How I found out...well," he says more heavily but chuckles with the same display of embarrassment Liv had seen before, during the play.

Olivia tries to hide her curious grin, staring at her burger, but Ambrose doesn't seem to miss it as he continues talking.

"Let's say she was very willing to change her major to "sex with Leyla," and she wasn't even in college." A shudder radiates up Ambrose's spine at the memory. He rather did not want to be reminded of that. However dorkily adorable the performance in the play was, Ambrose could just not not think of his daughter.

So that's what this was all about. Ambrose got a taste of deja-vu. Interesting. Olivia, although feeling awfully sorry for him and his daughter both, can't help but laugh with the revelation.

"At least I think that's what was going on," he mutters quietly. "Definitely was headed that way." He figures there is not much more room for interpretation when some girl he has never even seen before had her hand shoved deep in his sixteen-year-old daughter's pants.

"Sounds like you learned the hard way to _always_ knock before entering a teenager's room." She is enjoying his past plight way too much.

"In my defense, I didn't even know she had company."

It doesn't diminish Olivia's enjoyment at all, if anything her face splits with an even wider grin. "You do know it doesn't necessarily take company to walk in on _something_, right?"

She's not making anything better by the way he tries to avoid her gaze. In fact she might have made it worse.

"Thanks," he says awkwardly, quickly reaching for his glass to drown the images that pop up sans invitation.

"You're welcome." She steals a fry from the plate in the middle, deciding to give him a break. "Shall we eat?"

"Please," he agrees. The burger looks delicious and he picks it up, making sure to move his head towards the food to take a bite. The juices drip onto the plate. "Hm. That's good," he approves around a small mouthful.

For a while they eat in relative silence. Olivia doesn't finish her half of the burger although it's really good. Instead she keeps munching on the fries. The wine gets better on the second glass.

"Not good?" Ambrose asks, eyeing Olivia's burger.

"Too much."

Two more bites and Ambrose's burger is gone. He leaves the fries alone since Olivia seems to enjoy them. It's a delight just to watch her dip a fry in her sauce and bite the head of only to repeat the process. She must be aware of his fixation on her because she shifts in the small booth, looking a little uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Nothing. Glad to see you enjoying your fries." She did say she'd kill for them. _Someone did not kid_, he thinks eyes twinkling with amusement.

Looking sheepishly over her glass of wine she shrugs a little. "They are good fries."

"As good as your first time?" The second he sees Liv's eyes widen he backpedals. "God, sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."

Chewing, Olivia shakes her head and clears her throat. She hadn't expected the question but she isn't upset about it, either.

"No, that's okay," she says as she recovers and chuckles lightly. "And no. My first time was kind of… a disaster," she grimaces. Whatever expectations she once had, the reality had been more than disappointing.

"How so?" He asks interestedly. "I mean, you don't have to tell me, of course."

"Let's see," Olivia starts, picking up her wine glass. "He was a bit older and much more experienced, which upped the pressure. It wasn't planned, I just… felt like it was about time I stopped holding off and finally put out. I had a few drinks because… liquid courage," she says, looking at him suggestively taking a sip of wine. "It was after a party. In a car. I was basically a cliché," she chuckles dryly. "There was no prior communication whatsoever, nothing like it should be. It was uncomfortable, I was all cramped and just glad when it was over," she sums up quickly. "How about you?"

Ambrose wonders which version he should tell her, but her honesty deserves the actual first time-or rather the first attempt at it. "It was with Claire."

_Of course it was. He's such a showoff, marrying the woman he had his first time with,_ Olivia thinks around a smile.

"We were both sixteen and her parents were out of town for a couple of days. We have been playing with the idea of it for quite a bit, I guess we would have done it sooner, if it hadn't been for lack of a suitable place. I guess I was a typical guy, I didn't much care where we'd do it but Claire wanted a bed and well… I guess we both wanted it to be at least a little bit romantic," he admits.

"Let me guess, it was perfect, hm?" Liv grins at him suspiciously, and Ambrose grins back but shakes his head.

"I could tell you it was, but our actual first time…," he sighs, briefly closing his eyes before he speaks quickly. "I got a little too excited, if you know what I mean."

"Oh."

"Yeah. It was quite embarrassing. We had never really gone further than making out before so, I didn't even think to try and save the situation somehow, make her feel good… anything, really," he chuckles insecurely. „It felt like it was the end of the world."

Back then he could hardly look Claire in the eye, that's how embarrassing it was to come before he had even been inside her. He's never talked about this to anyone but Claire. If anyone had told him he'd be talking about his humiliating attempt at first time sex, Ambrose would have laughed it off. But here they are. _Fun Home, thank you very much! _

"For a week or so things were awkward as hell. I didn't know how to talk about it but talking clearly was the only way to go about it. It only came back up a month later. We were at my house, my mom left for work. I wasn't expecting Claire to say she really wanted to try again. I was mortified thinking it could happen again," he says around a roll of his eyes. „So we talked, we had to. She was a lot more relaxed about it than I was and told me she won't mind, it doesn't have to end there. We took the pressure off, deciding we'd just see how it goes. It wasn't perfect but it was quite nice. I mean, at sixteen we were basically just two kids, we hardly knew anything about good sex. Kinda figured it out in time."

Olivia bites her lip and laughs, leaning back in her booth. "God, that's so true. The first five times or so I'd just… lay there. I had no idea what to do and figured not doing anything was better than doing it wrong?"

"Definitely makes sense," Ambrose encourages around a smile. "Sounds like a dream come true."

"Right?" Liv asks, a little snort coming through her nose. "Of course my mom didn't take it so well when she figured out I slept with a man who was five years older than me at sixteen. That kind of age gap? It's something I arrest people for now."

"Does that feel awkward?" he asks with genuine interest.

"Sometimes," Olivia admits. "I agree with the law. I don't think at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, teenagers understand all the consequences of consenting to being sexual active. But with someone older? There is a power imbalance. Do I think every guy who dates a girl under the age of consent is a predator? No. I don't doubt people fall in love. I know that I was very much in love with my boyfriend. And I am sure he was in love with me." She is getting a little lost in her own head. Sometimes it's hard for her to draw the line because this is personal. She is a cop in SVU. It is supposed to be black and white. But she was also a sixteen year old girl once, madly in love and willing to marry a guy who, by law, was considered a predator. And she will never see him as that, nor did she ever feel like he was interested in little girls or teenagers only. In fact she knows he dated someone his own age after her. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that… if anyone ever gets in this kind of situation and is the older party? They shouldn't act on it." Olivia washes the admissions down with wine. "Probably makes me a bad cop, and I shouldn't let anyone hear it but sometimes it's just… a little more complicated than labeling someone a predator. Which doesn't mean there aren't a lot of them who are."

"I get it," Ambrose assures. "And I think it's a very… human approach."

"Maybe just an emotional approach," Olivia shrugs helplessly. "I don't even know."

"You know what I realized today? I never once talked to Amelia about when or how she knew she was gay," he admits thoughtfully, playing with the stem of his glass. "It just hit me during the play, when that little girl found someone she identified with." His voice sounds awfully small all of a sudden. "I always prided myself on the close relationship we have, and I don't even know if Amelia had such a pivotal moment or what it was."

What if she needed him? Did she try to tell him long before he had walked in on her and her 'friend'? Olivia nods at him sympathetically, which makes him go on.

"And I wonder, was I that father, engrossed in my morning paper, completely ignorant to what she needed? Did I make her feel like she couldn't confide in me about liking girls? Because she never actually came out to me. I walked in on that… situation and things were kind of awkward for a little while. She asked once if it was okay, and I told her yes, of course. Whatever makes her happy." If they keep talking like this he will soon need something stronger than wine. For now it will have to do, though so Ambrose finishes his glass in one go.

"You didn't know before that, Ambrose. You can't beat yourself up over what-ifs," Olivia explains softly. She's quite the hypocrite, because she doesn't exactly live by that advise, does she?

"Didn't I? She has never spelled it out but I… I knew, Olivia. Deep down I knew my daughter was not straight. I don't know how I knew but I just did. And I never asked her. I didn't want to make her uncomfortable and thought that if she wanted me to know, she'd tell me. But maybe it wasn't her I didn't want to be uncomfortable. Maybe it was _me_."

"Uncomfortable with what, Ambrose?" Olivia encourages softly. "With her being gay?"

"No," he breathes, shaking his head. "I never felt uncomfortable with that. But the idea of discussing her love life at all?" He sighs, definitely needing a drink now.

It was just him and Amelia. Claire wasn't there to help navigating their daughter through puberty and girl talk. And Ambrose hadn't felt fully equipped for it so, he had pushed it far, far away, thinking it would all work itself out one way or another. He had talked to her about safe sex at age thirteen, when Amelia had gotten her period and one of her friends had started to date a boy. "I couldn't even do it before that incident and after that I was too embarrassed, hoping she would never bring it up."

"And don't you think all of that is normal under the circumstances?"

"Maybe. But what if I gave her the feeling that her being with a girl was embarrassing, not the fact that I walked in on it? I don't want her to think that she has somehow disappointed me." Because that couldn't be further from the truth. "Because she hasn't. Ever. I couldn't be prouder of her living her truth."

"You do realize it's never too late to tell her exactly that, right?"

"What if that's not enough?" He wonders aloud, shoulders dropping.

Olivia swallows, wishing she could make this easier for Ambrose. She gets it. And honestly, she is quite touched about how crestfallen her friend is all of a sudden when he doesn't even know if what he worries about has ever been a problem for his daughter. Worrying her bottom lip, Olivia decides to confide something in Ambrose that she normally wouldn't.

"I told you that my mother died a long time ago, right?" She waits until Ambrose nods his head in confirmation, trying to pick her words carefully. "We didn't always have the best relationship." That was putting it mildly. "And one thing that I could relate to today, during the play, was that… that sense of trying to go back in time and change…. change something," she explains, her hand symbolically trying to catch something that isn't there. "Wondering about all the things my mother never told me that I…," she swallows, her eyes briefly darting across the bar. "... that I _desperately_ needed to hear. And there are just as many questions that I didn't know I should have asked the last time I saw her before she died, some of them things I have wondered about my whole life." Putting her palms flat on her thighs, Olivia's smoothes them down her upper her leg and back up a few times. "Telling her? It'll be enough, Ambrose," she assures softly, her voice gentle.

"You think so?"

"I'll go out on a limb and say I know so. There's a difference in not discussing her sexuality in detail after you found out for sure and being indifferent or unsupportive. You accept and love her for who she is. Trust that she knows all that." Offering a smile she can see Ambrose relax a little as he mulls her words over.

"Thank you," Ambrose utters after a few moments of silence.

"Did it help?"

"Yes. It… it puts things into perspective when you say it like that."

"You know, Ambrose, it's okay to make mistakes. And maybe this wasn't even one. Maybe she didn't feel like anything needed discussing because she felt safe enough the moment you told her all that matters is that she's happy. But if it was? Children can forgive many things, things much worse than not having certain conversations. And from what I see and hear? Amelia sounds like a pretty great kid and you are a caring, amazing father. You will be okay."

He thinks, hopes, that maybe Liv is right. Most likely they will be okay. Also Amelia is probably the most forgiving person in this world. Ambrose doesn't think he's ever seen his daughter hold a grudge.

Without either of them noticing it has started to snow outside, thick snowflakes are dancing right there in front of the window.

"Look at that," Ambrose says, glancing outside, drawing Olivia's attention to it, too.

"Oh." Olivia can't quite decide if she loves the idea of walking at least a few blocks before hailing a cab, or if she hates it because snow will just up everyone's Christmas spirits - the one thing she really can't bother to even try and work up.

"It's nice, isn't it?" There is a thin cover of snow all over the sidewalk, on the cars, painting the city white and a little brighter despite it being nighttime.

"Yeah," she nods in agreement. It actually is kind of nice.

"Do you want to get out of here?" There is hardly any wine left in the bottle and it is getting late. "We do have some shopping and cooking to do tomorrow after all."

"Ugh, remind me, why don't you," Liv groans, banging her head against the cushioned leather of the booth.

"So my company's that bad, hm?" he asks with amusement in his tone. When Olivia looks back at him it's also written all over his face.

"The worst," she drawls before her lips crack apart. Although she could stay here for another few hours, she figures Ambrose is right. By the time she gets home it will be past midnight.

"Dinner's on me," she informs Ambrose as he tells one of the passing servers that they'd like the check. After all he's already paid for the wine at The Library and the tickets also came through him. The least she can do is pay for half his burger and his share of the $40 bottle of Pinot Noir. Ambrose hasn't seen much of the fries - or his ketchup for that matter.

A few minutes later they are out of the establishment.

"We could take an Über to Central Park, take a walk? It's not too far from West 65th to my place."

„Sounds good," Ambrose agrees.

It's ten minutes until an Über driver picks them up back on Lafayette Street. The drive is filled with easy conversation. When they arrive at West 65th, Olivia bundles up. The snow still comes down in thick flakes and it's cold, but Olivia feels warm and cozy within as they are walking side by side, lazily taking in the park as trees, walkways, and lamps get more covered with a glistening blanket by the minute. It's comfortable. It's comforting. Even more so when Olivia slides her hand through the loop of Ambrose's arm, linking herself to him. She can feel his eyes on her, taking in her profile, only to smile at her with a trace of contentment. After a few moments Liv tilts her head to meet his gaze. If her cheeks weren't already flushed from the cold, Ambrose would see them turn a shade of red, giving away how flustered she is.

Quickly she drops her gaze, swallows, her stomach rumbling with insecurity. "S'that okay?"

"Yeah," he breathes, smiling to himself, taking her in for a moment longer. Whatever this is, it makes Ambrose's heart flutter. He doesn't want to admit it, but he's had more fun tonight than he's had in a very long time. And it hasn't even been a date. They continue on in comfortable silence for about fifteen minutes.

After the park it's five blocks to Liv's building. All of a sudden time seems to fly, and the walk that usually feels so long is over way too quickly.

„Well, this is me," Liv says, glancing up at the large front door. Ambrose, reluctantly, unhooks his arm from Olivia's.

"Well…" There's a pregnant pause between the two of them and Olivia bites the inside of her lip. If she doesn't make this quick she is going to end up asking him upstairs for a nightcap and she really… shouldn't.

"This was nice," she offers. "Thanks for thinking of me. With the tickets...and all."

"Don't even mention it. I had a good time," he smiles.

"Me too." Absentmindedly she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"So… tomorrow? Shall we meet here at 10:30 to go and get groceries?" He says after a moment of silence that seemed to drag on and on.

"Works for me."

"Okay then," he mumbles, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets, awkwardly glancing at the empty space between them. "Have a good night." Shuffling his feet a quarter step backwards, he hears her echo his _goodnight_. In the very last second however he quickly moves in to kiss her cheek. It seems she didn't see it coming because Ambrose's lips awkwardly fall onto the corner of Olivia's mouth. For a moment they both seem to freeze, neither of them moving. Or breathing. When he snaps out of it he exhales against her mouth slowly, shakily, before pulling back. His intention to apologize evaporates into thin air. Try as he might, not a single word comes out when her dark eyes meet his and she quietly clears her throat.

"I should…"

"Yeah," he says quickly, taking a step back, then another as he raises his hand to wave.

"10:30?"

"10:30," Ambrose agrees, mimicking her single nod before she turns. He has no idea where the keys in her hand come from so suddenly but before he knows it she turns. With one last glance over her shoulder she disappears in the building, and Ambrose exhales heavily.

…

Olivia's head is still spinning as she enters her apartment, unable to comprehend what just happened. After gently pushing the door shut she leans against it, still in the darkness of the narrow hallway adjacent to her living room. The fingers of her right hand ghost over the corner of her mouth. Closing her eyes, Olivia can almost imagine Ambrose's lips.

_Right there_.

He didn't kiss her, and yet...they'd practically kissed. It'is only now that Liv realizes how hard her heart is thumping in her chest. Which is completely unreasonable because it didn't mean anything. Ambrose didn't even try as his lips collided with hers. Soft lips.

In fact, she thinks, Ambrose's lips are the softest thing she has felt in a long time. Which doesn't make any sense, either, Olivia realizes frustratedly.

She's probably overreacting because the last man she's kissed was Cassidy and it's been a while. At this point she's so starved for affection, she'd idolize a dog slobbering all over her.

Except Ambrose didn't slobber and there's no way a dog could possibly smell so intoxicatingly good.

_God, what the hell is wrong with me? _

Her hand fumbles for the light switch, slamming down once she finds it. Shower. She needs a shower. And she does not need to think of Ambrose, she chastises, as she heads towards her bedroom.

Boy, if anything ever failed? Not trying to think of Ambrose was it.

Shaking her head Olivia lets her head fall against the bathroom door. She doesn't know if she's amused or annoyed with herself as lets out a short burst of laughter and starts to get undressed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes: It's been a while, I know, I know. But work's been hectic and there's too little time and too much life to live... you know the drill. **

**As for this chapter - I hope I do it justice... I don't think I've ever been more nervous about posting something because I don't want it to be preachy or for it to go all wrong. So yeah, I'm very, very, very on edge here. Now you could say 'then why did you write it? Why post it? I've been asking myself that and it's because the conversation that is going to take place in this chapter will be very important in later chapters. Also it's the type of conversation that needs to happen - IN MY OPINION. **

**All the love and heartfelt thanks go out to Amy for beta'ing the shit out of this chapter with me, for putting up with my insecurities and giving me perspective time and time again. I can't express how much your support and out conversations mean to me! **

**Here we go. **

**...**

As Ambrose had promised last night, or rather this morning, he waits right by the door, and five minutes early, too. His offer to help with her late housewarming slash recent promotion to Sergeant dinner party is a real blessing because on her own Olivia knows she would be about panicking by now. It's 10:25 am which leaves them with plenty of time to do the shopping for groceries and a set of 8 matching dessert glasses.

"Hey," she greets him with a wide smile, hoping she doesn't look as tired as she feels after their rather long night out. "How come you look like you've gotten a full night of sleep?" Liv teases as she quickly hugs him.

It is no longer snowing, neither is NYC tinged in white anymore. The streets and sidewalks are nothing but very dark gray, very unappealing slush.

"I moisturize," he jokes, hugging her back. "In the shower. Soaking your entire body in cold water is very vitalizing."

"Brrr," Olivia shudders at the mere mention of a cold shower. "No thanks, I'd rather look like shit then."

"Oh please, you look great." What is it with women and their skewed self-perception sometimes?

"Well, thank you," she says dutifully, before tilting her head to her left. "Let's maybe head this way, there's a store not too far from here and you said something about fresh pasta, we should get it there."

"Perfect."

They fall into easy conversation just as they fall into step, walking at a slow pace. It feels colder than last night. Ambrose is just filling Olivia in on what he thinks will be a good menu for tonight when, seemingly out of nowhere, an ignorant slur makes her falter. She looks around, trying to identify whoever said it.

„Couldn't find one of your own women, huh?"

Ambrose knows it's a clearly racist question towards him. He ignores it, showing no signs that he has heard it. Olivia is confused, the street is not exactly deserted, the person could have meant anyone. When she finally spots the man her brows knit. He is younger than them, probably in his early thirties, and he definitely fixates Ambrose with a hard, unpleasant stare.

„Hey, I was talking to you, or don't you speak my language?"

Now Olivia's eyes widen with surprise, shocked that not only someone just attacked her friend because of his skin color but also coming off pretty aggressive by taking a step towards them, which feels threatening.

Under his breath the guy adds: „Disgusting."

This sets Olivia off. They had just walked past the younger man but she spins around and stalks towards him. „What did you just say?"

„Liv-," Ambrose instantly starts but she doesn't even want to hear it as she stares the dude down.

„I said this is disgusting," the stranger repeats, looking at her no less repulsed than she had seen him look down upon Ambrose.

He looks perfectly normal, bundled up in a thick winter jacket and a black wool cap. Olivia had expected she'd smell alcohol on his breath - something to indicate the man is not fully in control of himself-which wouldn't be an excuse-but realizing he is just a regular person? It's quite scary. Except Olivia Benson is not scared.

„Yeah, what is? Why don't you tell me what's so disgusting," Olivia dares the guy, who doesn't even blink, obviously feeling no shame whatsoever.

„This. You and…," he gestures at Ambrose. „What is it with women like you? You like fucking _that_?" He asks her, dehumanizing the man by her side like he's a thing rather than a person.

Blinking at him she gets even closer, coming face to face with him, having a really hard time not to grab him by his jacket and throw him into the brick wall of the building they are standing in front of. „Yes," she starts lowering her voice dangerously until it's just above a whisper. „I _love_ fucking him, so what? Huh? You got a problem with that you racist piece of shit?"

„Olivia, don't. Let's just go," Ambrose pleads with her more urgently than before. knowing that there's no reasoning with people like him. Calling them out, getting angry, pointing out they as a person are racist rather than their actions? It usually doesn't help at all. It only makes the confrontation more complicated.

„What did you just call me? If I were you, I'd rather watch my mouth bitch!" She can see she's got him there, that he's getting angry, and a small part of her wants to dare him to lay a hand on her.

„I'd rather watch my mouth bitch…. or what?" She asks him, taunting him as she pulls out her badge and holds it in front of his face, identifying herself as NYPD without needing to say the words. In an instant the guy backs down. She isn't on the job but she has learned a long time ago that carrying her badge around can be quite handy.

„What, you're a cop?"

„No, I'm the tooth fairy," Olivia rolls her eyes at him, the sarcasm in her voice slicing the air. „Yeah, I'm a cop! So do you wanna apologize to my friend or shall we take this down to the station?"

The stranger seems to hesitate for a second, then takes a step back, holding up his hands in defense. „Forget I said anything," he says, and takes a left turn, walking away, shortly looking back to make sure she's not following him.

„Yeah, that's not gonna happen," she calls out, making sure he hears it. Plenty of eyes are on them and yet nobody has thought to take a stand. Even now that the guy has left she can hardly grasp that this actually happened and Ambrose was openly attacked - for no reason. Not that there's ever a good reason for racism. Ambrose puts his hand on her back, gently urging her towards their desired destination, the corner store. She lets him and walks along both, stunned and angry.

„You shouldn't have done that," Ambrose tells her calmly. Of course he appreciates the fierce advocacy but he really wishes she had not let this guy and his slurs get to her. He himself had learned a long time ago that any reaction to vile verbal attacks are a waste of energy. Ambrose rather focuses on other things. It didn't seem like the guy was the kind of person to have a reasonable conversation with. He wouldn't have cared for kindness or an explanation how the things he said made Ambrose feel.

„He attacked you in the streets for no reason at all," she says, still heated with anger.

„He did," Ambrose says, fully in control of his emotions.

„So what, I was just to stand there and do nothing?" she asks, squinting at him in the aisle with fruit and vegetables.

He draws a deep breath as he reaches for the garlic. „You want to talk about this?" When he directs her again Olivia looks a little torn, not sure what she wants. It just feels like something needed to be said.

„I… maybe."

„Fair enough," he says around a nod and a small smile. „Let's do that later though, okay?" He understands that his reality as a person of color isn't Olivia's, and if they are going to have a conversation about it, the store is not the place to have it.

They gather everything they need for the dinner. Surprisingly it's not even all that much. With the purchases the two of them make it to her apartment within a few minutes. It is the first time Ambrose is at her place and he looks around with interest. "This all is really nice."

"Thank you," she smiles, putting the plastic bags on the breakfast bar. "You want the tour?" There is not all that much to see but she figures it can't hurt if he knows where the bathroom is, even though that means he will have to go through her bedroom.

With a little shrug, leaving it up to her, he follows her lead and puts the other two bags of groceries down. "If you don't mind."

Olivia shows him around, the small bedroom that she uses as an office space first, then her master bedroom with a bold terracotta backdrop as an accent wall. Throw pillows and a cover spread in earthy hues make the bed look inviting and cozy.

The place feels very Olivia; it is classy with just a touch of modern interpretation. It's completely different from the very clean and structured design choices made at his West Village home.

They unpack the groceries in silence, both unaware their minds are still on the altercation that took place not even an hour ago. Ambrose is grateful for the momentary distraction that cooking is going to offer.

„Shall we start with the panna cotta then?"

„Sure." Olivia loves the Italian dessert. She has never made it, though. Ambrose, well prepared as he is, unfolds a sheet of paper with the recipe.

Side by side they work. Ambrose takes care of the concoction of heavy cream, vanilla and sugar on the stove; Olivia purees half-frozen strawberries in a blender.

„About what happened earlier?" she eventually starts, thinking she needs to explain herself. „I'm sorry I reacted so strongly. It's just… when he said there was something _disgusting_ about you? Or the mere idea you were with a white woman?" Olivia shakes her head as if she could shake off the altercation. She encountered racism on the job, but this feels very different. This is personal. Just like it had been a few months ago when what she became witness to between Fin and a supposed victim made her feel paralyzed. This time it had been quite the opposite. Everything she hadn't been able to express when Jolene Castille had shown obvious racial bias towards Fin, it shot to the surface today when it was directed toward Ambrose.

There is a palpable shift in the mood as Ambrose turns enough to look at her. As much as he tries to keep his face impassive, Olivia thinks she knows him well enough by now to see behind the facade.

„It happens. Not usually like that, people are generally more subtle about it. But it happens. And I appreciate what you did, Liv. I really do. I just know that it's a waste of energy and time. The guy was being hateful, he _wanted_ to be hateful. Nothing was going to change that." He makes a pregnant pause. „In a way these obvious altercations are a lot easier than the subtle jabs."

„How so?"

„Spewing hate? That's usually just fear or total ignorance. But that comes from idiots that don't care to reflect on their views and actions. The misconceptions of the public about privilege and everyday racism? That's what does the real damage. I've had these type of conversations with friends and basically I've been told more than once that I'm taking things too seriously or that I'm too insensitive, and clearly my examples of the ongoing oppression of people of color are invalid because I am successful in what I do and my child is privileged. In terms of money? Maybe that's true. But in every other regard she's experiencing the same struggles as any Black woman. And she has since her childhood."

Olivia, pensively, takes off the lid of the blender, wondering what exactly these struggles are. The truth is, Fin aside, Ambrose is the only Black person she is friends with, and she wonders what that says about her. Then she doesn't have _any_ friends outside the job, does she? It probably says more about her lacking social life than about the people she surrounds herself with.

"I just can't wrap my head around it," she states, moving towards the sink to rinse off the lid. Race shouldn't matter and in her opinion every human being is equal. She never understood how good people were targeted for the color of their skin or their religious beliefs or, despite her job, gender. It may be a given but something within Olivia urges her to let Ambrose know that she doesn't agree with that treatment at all. "I mean… I don't look at you and see a Black man." First and foremost she sees a person, a great one at that.

To empathise the weight of her words she looks at him just to see Ambrose stiffen at the stove as he looks at her with a hint of bewilderment.

"Well, but I _am_ black."

"Yes, of course… I just mean," she starts to fumble, realizing that what she was trying to say came out wrong.

"By saying you don't see color you suggest we are all equal," Ambrose starts, his voice carrying a heaviness she isn't used from him.

Instantly a sense of defensiveness kicks in and Olivia wants to explain herself, make Ambrose see that _he_ got this _all wrong_. And yet, deep down, there is some truth to how he put it: She does not see color; and apparently, judging by Ambrose's tone and facial expression, that is not a good thing. Seeing her words are clearly upsetting Ambrose makes Liv pause. Olivia recognizes she can't explain where she's coming from without taking the risk of making matters worse. She swallows uncomfortably, feeling her cheeks burn.

Ambrose is at a place in his life, where he no longer bothers explaining privilege and racism to white people, so he only starts because he actually cares about Olivia. Not that he thinks it's going to help much.

"Let's face it. That guy? He didn't come at you because of the way you look, because of the color of your skin. He pitied you, thinking we were a couple, held you to a higher standard, as if you, as a white woman, could do better. And you jumped on it." At no point he sounds seriously angered, his tone is very factual, no emotional attachment distinguishable. "So pretending me being Black is something you don't see or care about allows you to deny uncomfortable cultural and structural differences. And quite honestly... ," he stops himself to think of better words than 'it's a form of racism', because it's not something he wants to throw in Olivia's face when he understands her opinion has been shaped by her privilege as a white woman. It's really not her fault. "It's offensive."

When Ambrose finishes he can see Olivia look back at him as if he had just struck her. Her expression then changes to one he interprets as embarrassment.

"I…" she starts and horrified she can feel her face flush more. Unable to look Ambrose in the eye, Olivia's gaze roams her surroundings in search for an anchor point, something that she hopes will give her a moment of emotional stability now that Ambrose's words have knocked her off balance. If there is one thing she has learned from Fin a very long time ago, it's that you don't argue with a Black person about race. Ever. Because their perception always ends up being a white person's misconception. So, unable to say anything, she remains silent, wondering if she should just bolt like her very first instinct tells her to. She is so embarrassed, she hardly dares breathe, wondering if that will someone add insult to injury.

Ambrose, looking at her, sighs softly, wondering if it's a conversation he should engage in. He has been at this very point many times and what it comes down to is that it is emotionally exhausting to try and make a white person understand that colorblindness is not doing the Black community any favors. Liv means well, he understands that. However, it's not making the implications any less complicated or hurtful. He could recite statistics to her, statistics he is sure as an NYPD Sergeant she knows all too well. He could tell her about the great injustices he has encountered in his life. He could even tell her how at only five years old, his daughter had stood in front of him after begging Claire to straighten her hair, and had shaken the long strands smiling proudly, telling him 'Look Daddy, now I'm pretty, too. I look just like a princess', and then, like an afterthought but even more heartbreaking: 'I look just like all the other girls in my class.' So to him, of course, this is much much bigger than Olivia's statement that she does not see color, that she does not see him, a Black man, as a Black man. Maybe he should just move on and let it go, especially seeing how dumbstruck Olivia is glancing around.

"I'm… I'm sorry, I wasn't aware," Olivia eventually croaks out, sounding much smaller than Ambrose thought was possible for her.

Looking at her, her eyes meet his with hesitance. The apology comes unexpectedly. It actually stuns Ambrose. Normally people come back at him with justifications, making him feel like the problem is him or Black people in general - that they have some kind of chip on their shoulder. Olivia simply admitting that she wasn't aware of the offensiveness of her words, is quite the plot twist from the usual white narrative.

"Thank you," he says sincerely. "People don't usually apologize when discussing racial imbalances. I… I know it's probably hard to understand when you're not in the same position."

"Well, that doesn't give me the right to say something that is considered offensive and… I mean… I want to understand. If that means anything?" It comes out timidly. Olivia doesn't want to put her foot in her mouth again.

It's been forty-five years on this earth and yet this is the very first time someone other than Claire has communicated that they _want to_ understand the extent of their privilege and what it means to be Black in a white majority society.

"That actually means a lot, Liv," he says. Ambrose takes a long moment, trying to think of a way to make the experiences of Black people more relatable to his friend.

"I'm just trying to… it feels like a very hopeless place. And I'm not saying that for pity, it just is what it is. Maybe if you compare it to things I am sure you are facing, it'll be easier to understand. I mean, privilege in itself is not only something people of color have to deal with, right? You are a woman. I am sure you have encountered sexism many, many times and had it denied, mainly by the people responsible for it. Do men ever acknowledge they are sexist, even if they have just said or done something openly sexist?"

Olivia scoffs quietly, rolling her eyes a little. "No." In fact, women are often held responsible for the actions and wrongdoings of men. Slut shaming and victim blaming come to mind. And doesn't it show in all the debates about how short shorts are allowed to be, how much cleavage a girl is to show at school because some institution preaches modesty and at the same time comes around with excuses how the male students can't focus if they are being confronted with girls that aren't _properly_ dressed?

"And just to be clear, I am not excluding myself from that narrative. I am sure I've been sexist and I'm sure I've been completely unaware of things I randomly or not so randomly projected onto women just because they are women. But that doesn't make it right or justifiable because being sexist in 2013 is not okay. And I believe that it is something we should be talking about, it's a conversation that needs to happen and it should happen openly. What shouldn't happen is to make women feel like they are exaggerating. That they are too touchy-feely about it or taking themselves too seriously. That 'boys will be boys'."

Olivia starts to understand how a conversation about race ties into what they are discussing. Just because these issues only touch specific groups of people in society, it doesn't mean the problems and their perception aren't valid or adequate. Her obvious misconception makes her very uncomfortable. In fact, Olivia feels foolish.

"Or let's try another example. You are a woman within the NYPD. So, I take it you had and still have to work ten times as hard as the men around you. I can imagine you constantly have to prove that you belong there, that you deserve to be there."

This too resonates with Olivia, and he can see it when she nods her head in agreement.

"Yeah, that's… that's true," she confirms quietly. It had been hard, especially when she first started out within the NYPD. As an officer Olivia had constantly felt the pressure to be more present, work harder, prove herself. And still she had never felt she was seen as fully equal. Only when she had started working SVU she had felt a sense of belonging, at least within her unit. She no longer had felt the need to constantly prove herself, which is why it hit so damned hard when Elliot had accused her of not doing her job, had declared that he couldn't always look across his shoulder to make sure she was okay. The accusation nauseates her to this day. And the thing is: she knows Elliot didn't mean it. Which only makes it so much more hurtful because he knew how much pride she took in her profession. She _is_ a good cop. To make her doubt herself and her abilities like some prick from any other division, meeting her with such animosity just because he could? It had made her feel splintered.

"Maybe that's the closest thing to understanding the structural imbalance where people of color are concerned. Today? The injustice of being called out was easy to spot for you, for every white person. But usually it isn't. It's not just these in your face encounters where someone calls a Black person disgusting or… or is called the N-word. It is that sense of… there's a very quiet understanding of being _different._ There is a reason Black men and women are less likely to be in a position of power. And it's an open secret that there's still a massive pay gap between Black and white employees, but talking about that is probably a little too uncomfortable so what's happening is: we make it a silent denial. Or… or people who will sometimes avoid to call a person Black - as if that in itself isn't somehow offensive. Where is the equality everyone is talking about? Where is the equality that, no offense, you suggested there is or should be there by default when white folks pretend they don't see color?" He shrugs and then, helplessly, stretches out his arms.

"I am Black. I'm not offended if anyone calls me Black or if _you_ see me as Black. What offends me is when people use color blindness to lull us into a false sense of equality when it doesn't exist." He exhales and looks at Olivia, trying to bring it to a point. "There are power relations surrounding race in our country. And I don't need you to understand them in the way I do. You can't. You will never have to walk in a Black woman's shoes. But if you could acknowledge they exist at all? That is the first step in truly respecting people of color and acknowledging our truth."

Olivia chews on his words for a few seconds, allowing for everything he has just said to sink in. She doesn't want this to be the first and last conversation they have. She wants to educate herself and make sure she will not easily put her foot in her mouth again. None of her words or actions should ever offend or hurt a person, least of all someone she cares about.

"I can acknowledge that. And I really am sorry for saying something offensive, I never…," Olivia clears her throat and purses her lips thoughtfully. "I think I never thought about it like that. I didn't have that sense of awareness that _my_ perception of seeing everyone as equal is clearly very different from your reality. And I'm," she exhales shakily, the words not coming easily. "I'm ashamed of myself for that." Not just because of what she had said to Ambrose but it makes her wonder how many times she must have gotten it wrong around Fin or possibly even Black victims in the past fifteen years, how many times she might have not been as aware of her white privilege as she should have been.

Her conclusion makes Ambrose's heart swell. Olivia is a good person.

"Liv, that's not at all what I want you to feel like. You shouldn't be ashamed." Quickly his eyes flit to the pot on the stove, deciding the cream should be fine without being stirred for a moment. Stepping towards her he tentatively reaches out and touches her upper arm. "It actually means the world to me that you've listened and want to do better at all. Because it's not how this conversation goes. Not in my experience. So thank you for that."

Pressing her lips together, Olivia nods before she exhales through her nose and easily moves against him to hug him, realizing she hasn't done this in many years. It has a different quality to it than their dance of moving in and out of each other's personal space to say hello or goodbye. It is warmer and not at all brief. Olivia's face presses against Ambrose's neck as her eyes close and she breathes against him. "Thank you for explaining this to me." She has always considered herself a fairly educated person, aware of the injustices that come with an upheld system that allows for racial bias. Turns out she hasn't been aware of all the blind spots she has. Of how she too is part of the problem. Ambrose's skin is warm and when his arms loosely tie around her middle it feels oddly… right. Olivia inhales. Just like last night she notices how good Ambrose smells, that he himself and his cologne make for a perfect blend. She almost doesn't want to let go when he takes a step back and releases her but she does. Ambrose moves, attending to the cream on the stove. For a long moment an awkward silence dominates. Helplessly, Olivia glances around, anywhere but at Ambrose whose back she is facing. With her strawberries processed to a smooth puree she feels lost. Her discomfort and embarrassment over their dispute still has an effect on her. To busy her hands Olivia opens one of the cabinets and pours the bright red puree into a small measuring cup.

"Do you want to get started on the sauce?"

When Ambrose speaks Olivia startles. She is so wrapped up in her own thoughts, dedicated to scraping even the last drop of strawberry from the blender with a spatula, that his firm, deep voice almost makes her shriek. It also causes something within her stomach to rumble pleasantly.

Her heartbeat gallops. Jesus, she needs to focus. _Sauce_. Liv only finds her voice a few seconds later.

"Sure. If you tell me what to do."

"Erm," he hums, thinking quickly as he scans the ingredients. "Dice the onions and garlic?"

"Okay."

She peels the onion, glad she gets to keep busy and not think about how much she has hurt Ambrose with her ignorance. Or, how many times she has said something utterly stupid in Fin's presence that might have hurt him.

"Can I ask something?"

Why it is that the sound of Ambrose's voice is giving her the strange feeling of butterflies fluttering wildly in her belly?

Something within Olivia rouses, a peculiar sense that she's projecting feelings onto Ambrose after she got herself off with him on her mind in the shower last night. She now starts feeling guilty about it. Luckily he can't see her face, or else he'd see her get redder than the tomatoes next to the cutting board.

It occurs to Liv that she needs to speak. Without turning around or looking up, Olivia tells him yes, albeit nervous that he'll steer the conversation back towards her mistake or worse, that somehow he knows about her self-pleasuring activities that more or less involved him. Her body is so rigid with her inner tension, she wonders if her body language helps him to somehow read her mind, however ridiculous it sounds.

"Do you still remember when we graduated? The night of the party?" Although Ambrose brought the photo album back with him from London, he decided he wanted to talk to Olivia before showing it to her. Ever since he found the album, he had looked at the photographs repeatedly. A few more memories came back to him the more he dedicated himself to thinking back to his college days. The boy he used to be back then feels like a complete stranger. Ambrose hardly remembers how it used to be when he didn't get to see Claire every day. Or who he was before becoming a father. But now, in quiet moments, all alone, there are bits and pieces of his past engulfing him, and with them Olivia Benson.

For a second Olivia stops every movement, the vegetable knife in her hand hovering above the yellow onion. Instantly images flash before her eyes. Her in that red dress, Ambrose, gloomy and halfway depressed by her side over Claire's unforeseen absence. Olivia's own unhappiness over her breakup with Billy after finding out he hadn't been trustworthy. For a moment she wonders where this is going, unconsciously licking her bottom lip.

"Kind of."

Liv can feel his eyes on her now, his gaze hot on her back.

"Why?" As much as Olivia tries lacing her voice with nonchalance, the word sounds a little too shaky for her liking.

"Do you remember when you asked me to promise and stay in touch that night?"

Olivia swallows hard. It feels like there's a fist sized lump in her throat. Grateful that she doesn't have to face Ambrose she keeps her eyes fixated on the onion, slicing it in half. For a fraction of the second it goes through her head that if she cut herself, she wouldn't have to answer.

She remembers. Of course she remembers. She had never before asked someone for promises, except for her mom. But that was when she was still a kid. Olivia had learned that promises are made to be broken. With Ambrose however… it had felt different. For once Olivia had hoped that a promise might not be empty words. Their friendship had always felt very honest and pure to her.

Holding her breath, her mind runs in ten different directions at once. She realizes she is expected to say something.

"Did I ask that?" Her hand trembles, her eyes close briefly. It's been such a long time. What's the point in telling him that she does in fact remember?

Clearing his throat Ambrose steps closer. There is very little space in her open kitchen.

„Hm-hm. We were dancing to _Time After Time._"

„Oh. Well, I can't remember, I don't think," Olivia says, giving it her best effort to keep her voice even. It is not like she is still hurting over it but there was a time when she did. It seems to be the story of her life, looming ahead even then: She didn't matter to people as much as she wished she would. Everyone left her, forgot about her. Taught her she is replaceable.

„I didn't remember until my last visit in London either," Ambrose admits pensively. „I found a photo album. I never even looked at it before. There are quite a few pictures of us in there, one of us dancing. And when I saw it, it just hit me. That we had this conversation and that I made a promise and…" He exhales heavier than what is normal. „I didn't do a good job of keeping that promise."

Liv doesn't say what is truly on her mind. _No, you didn't. _

„It's not a big deal. I mean, we were basically just kids."

„Not really," Ambrose disagrees weakly. „I got married, you went to the Academy to become a law enforcement officer. We were young, maybe still a little green. But we weren't kids."

For all the things going through Olivia's mind, there is nothing she can say.

„What I'm trying to say is: I'm sorry. I should have picked up the phone or sent a letter back."

„It's fine," Olivia mutters.

„It's not."

„It doesn't matter, Ambrose." He isn't the first or only friend who has turned his back on her.

„It does to me."

At his words Olivia wants to slam the knife onto the table but grabs the handle harder instead.

„It didn't matter to you then, so why now?" Liv grinds out through gritted teeth. Then, trying to get back in control of her emotions, she purses her lips. „There's no point to rehash this. You were busy, I was busy. We forgot. It's not like college friendships ever last anyway. Most relationships don't," she scoffs.

"Are you mad at me?" He says _mad _in that thick, beautiful English accent. It makes Olivia feel guilty for being so flippant.

It is not his fault that she has never been very popular with the girls and boys her own age and didn't have friends at school. So later in college, when she actually found a circle of people, including Ambrose, who liked her, she clung to those new relations. To her this friendship simply meant more than it did to him. Olivia can't possibly fault Ambrose for that. He'd had a life to get back to with Claire while she has had nothing.

The memories upset her. That, and her almost infantile gullibility at the time. In a way Olivia's entire belief system has been instilled by what she has witnessed between other people and what she has seen on TV and in movies. It has taken her years to see through the smoke and mirrors that most of these things were fake. Olivia understands it doesn't mean her friendship with Ambrose and the other people she hung out with in college weren't real but there is a lot of truth in _out of sight, out of mind_, something Liv wasn't aware of at the time. So, eventually, she tossed out her assumptions about friendships and relationships as things that should last through time and opposition.

Or at least she had, until Elliot Stabler. And well, how has that turned out? It was tragically funny that she hasn't learned a thing from the sudden loss of friendships after college graduation.

"No, I'm not mad at you," Olivia breathes out. "I just… I hardly remember that day," she lies. "And no matter why things happened the way they did? It doesn't make a difference now. It's been a long time ago, Ambrose."

He stands beside her now. Mustering every last bit of courage, Olivia turns her head and looks at him. The facade threatens to crack under his intense gaze that tells her he doesn't believe her. There's no turning back now, though. She can't backtrack and tell him that she was hurt, that she didn't understand, that she had missed him terribly. Ambrose Williams forgetting about her and their years as friends in college was just one of many disappointments in her life.

Ambrose seemingly chews on the words she says, examining her face. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Olivia assures.

…

Not an hour later the panna cotta is in the fridge to set and the sauce is finished and in a container for further use at the party tonight. The entire apartment smells deliciously of basil, oregano and garlic. The s aroma is as heartwarming as when Ambrose tells Liv about the pictures in the album. She is getting more and more curious about the photographs because she herself doesn't own many pictures besides those of her graduation that her mother has taken. Without looking she can't even say if Ambrose is any of them. Folding the dish towel Olivia takes a slow, deep breath. It's a relief to have everything prepared for the dinner party without a moment of stressing out like she had before.

"I think we both deserve a glass of wine now," Olivia smiles, mischievously biting her bottom lip as she opens the cabinet and retrieves a bottle of Merlot.

"I think I agree." They haven't put much work in the dinner preparations but Ambrose can still do with a glass of red and some easy conversation. He gets two wine glasses and the corkscrew like Olivia asks and follows her to the sofa. They sit down next to each other, leaving enough space between their bodies for another person.

With the wine uncorked Olivia pours, and they toast to each other over a job well done.

"Thank you." After a couple of sips it occurs to Liv that she wouldn't be sitting here so relaxed if it wasn't for Ambrose's help. The evening might not end in a total disaster after all, she thinks, smiling with her lips wrapped around the rim of the glass.

"For what? I just made a few suggestions."

"Exactly. And you came over and gave direction and offered expert guidance." He's changed the entire menu, made it simpler and yet Olivia has a feeling it will be delicious and the party a success. For some reason not embarrassing herself is important to Olivia. She doesn't normally have people over, least of all for dinner. So she wants her friends to enjoy the food and have a good time. Also playing hostess for a night is far more domestic than her typical endeavors.

"It wasn't all that selfless, I mean, I got nice company and some wine out of it," he smirks.

"And dinner if you want? Half of it self-cooked but you won't go hungry. And if I can trust you it's going to be fantastic," Olivia extends an invitation.

" I don't expect a courtesy invitation," Ambrose assures, narrowing his eyes at her but a moment later the smile is playing around his lips again.

"That's not what this is. You're more than welcome to stay. I'd… I'd really like for you to stay." For one it's the least she can do. Proving to her friends that she has a social life that doesn't involve just her co-workers will be a nice extra. "What do you say?"

...


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes: As always I have to thank Amy who's the most wonderful beta in the world. Time to find out what Liv's co-workers / friends think about Ambrose, isn't it? **

**...**

Ambrose is back at her place sooner than expected. After rewarding themselves with a glass of wine each he headed home to walk his dog and change into a suit. Olivia liked his more casual attire but the man is destined to wear formal clothes, because God, he wears it well. He's standing in her door in a light gray suit that doesn't hide his muscular built beneath its slim fit. The color makes his dark eyes pop like crazy. They draw Olivia in like a couple of magnets, and she is pretty sure she is staring. It's not rational that she can't take her eyes off of him. The sheer force behind it makes her heart thump. Something rumbles alive deep in her belly when he smiles, and she swallows, takes a couple of steps backwards to make space for him to enter. He brings the cold December air into the warmth of her living room, a chill crawling across her skin that instantly perks up in goosebumps.

She finds her voice before she closes the door, and he hangs the coat that was draped across his arm.

„You're a little early." A good hour, to be exact. While she has taken a shower and done her hair and make-up, except the lipstick, she's terribly underdressed compared to him, sporting a pair of dark blue jeans and a simple off-white sweater. She was planning on changing into her dress after mixing together the salad dressing.

„I figured I could help, just in case you needed any." He pops the two buttons of his jacket, revealing more of the meticulously ironed shirt and fuchsia tie. The hard planes of his chest are blatantly apparent underneath, and suddenly it's not his eyes drawing her in.

_Jesus. _

She needs to get a grip. Olivia's cheeks burn up with the attractiveness Ambrose exudes and her inappropriate arousal-fueled reaction alike. Getting off in the shower to the thought of him is one thing, staring at him and letting her mind wander with him in the same room quite another. It's been entirely too long since she got laid; there is no other sound explanation for her behavior and Ambrose's effect on her.

She was fine when he left earlier and needs to channel that same energy.

„And I wasn't sure with the traffic tonight. They said we might get snow again."

„Just what the city needs," Olivia says a couple of seconds belated, but at least she's snapping out of it as he moves out of her field of vision to take a look out the window, as if he didn't just come in from outside. Of course now she is faced with his backside that isn't any less a distraction. No matter what he does or where she turns, she is too aware of him. He turns his head and gazes at her, and that alone unravels her, ignites another surge of heat beneath her flesh.

„Do you want some wine?" it's the only one thing Olivia can think of. Wine sounds like a plan. Anything to distract herself and numb that kindling desire that shouldn't exist in the first place.

„Sure." Ambrose shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, and Olivia tries to pretend the muscles in his shoulders aren't protruding beneath the material of his shirt and jacket. She also tries to pretend she is not the kind of person who objectifies a man because she hates when guys check her out as shamelessly as she does him. If Ambrose notices, he doesn't let on; he's back to looking out the window.

Olivia pours them wine, white this time, because the four bottles of Merlot should be saved for dinner. She takes a healthy drink from her glass just as Ambrose makes his way over to the breakfast bar.

"Thirsty?" He's smiling at her with the air of amusement surrounding him, and she gulps hard, then clears her throat. The chill of the wine does nothing to cool off the heat beneath her skin.

"A little." Her voice sounds hoarse and foreign, and if he notices that it has everything to do with his proximity, she is grateful he doesn't make a big deal of it.

Ambrose reaches for his glass, the Riesling swooshing in the bulbous bowl. He looks up at Olivia when he takes a small sip, his gaze directly on her. Olivia's hands get clammy. She is getting too hot underneath her sweater and thinks she needs to give Cassidy a ring. They quit the booty call business about a year ago, but desperate times, right? At the end of the night she's going to be pleasantly buzzed, just enough to not think about the bitter sweet regret that will be surging through her veins upon waking up entangled in Cassidy's embrace the morning after. The sex will be good, his body blissfully familiar, and, for one night, what Brian can offer is going to be enough. Watching him slip out of bed with that crooked smile of his before he uses her shower will make her question why on earth she invited him over. The parting words will sting just a little, like they always do.

"_See you, Liv,"_ is what he's going to say. She had told him the last time that she doesn't think so, finally breaking their _thing_ off, when she had failed to so many times before. Well, she's lasted a year. That has to be worth something. And this is different than it used to be. This time it's on her terms only, her calling the shots. And it is only for tonight.

She just needs to get something out her system, scratch that itch and she'll be fine.

It occurs to Olivia that she should try for a conversation, something else to focus on besides how good the man standing next to her looks in her kitchen or how his proximity throws her. How delicately he's holding the long stem of the wine glass with his pinky and ring finger while the other three are wrapped around the bulky body, making her wonder how his hands would feel on her hers. She gulps and takes a couple of steps away from him, in desperate need of more space between them, terrified of the idea that without it this magnetic force of a man is going to make her touch him involuntarily.

_Make her!_ She is aware of the absurdity of the thought, but it feels like a very real possibility. In an attempt to calm her nerves she indulges in some more wine, as if she could wash the very thought down with alcohol.

Ambrose looks at her curiously then.

"Everything okay?"

No. Everything is not okay. But she can't possibly tell him that, so shuffling her feet slowly she does what she does best. She comes up with an excuse.

"Ah. Yeah. Just… a little nervous, you know?" she says slowly and puts her wine glass down. Turns out that is a mistake, because now her hands are completely unoccupied, she has nothing to fiddle with. She waits a few beats before grabbing the plastic container of her blender. "This isn't exactly my natural habitat," she attempts a joke, gesturing helplessly at her surroundings.

She is not a total disaster in the kitchen. In the past five years she has made an effort to cook at least twice a week instead of ordering in or getting take-out on her way home from the precinct. She's not putting a chef's dinner on the table by any means but she's good with her quick go-to recipes. With her dinner plans for the night she had simply wanted to impress her co-workers on a skill level she isn't quite comfortable with. She's made risotto before but she hadn't cooked for a party of eight then. Keeping it simple hasn't crossed her mind until Ambrose had told her to.

"Don't worry, you're all set." He too puts his glass down and then looks at her again, his eyes deep and warm. Then his hand is on her, just above the small of her back. Olivia's stomach plummets into a freefall. He's touching her so intimately, and while it shakes Olivia to the core, Ambrose seems to be completely unfazed.

She's reading too much into it. This means nothing, he's just trying to reassure her, she reasons with the rational part of her brain, the one that isn't responsible for her hammering heartbeat and the dry throat that's locking up. Liv's body naturally gravitates towards Ambrose's, but she stops herself just in time and shifts away from him with a weak, apologetic smile.

He's pulling his hand away, and she can see the insecurity on his face. He's probably wondering if he's overstepped and makes sure to put some more distance between them.

"Sorry, I wasn't…" He stops mid-sentence and shakes his head lightly, clearly thinking he has done something wrong.

"No, it's… ah… I just need to get started with the dressing." She fumbles for something more because this sounds exactly like the cop-out it is but there is nothing. She's drawing a blank, realizing she's stuck. The moment swells to unbearable discomfort and she can't look at him for a moment longer and try to gauge his reaction.

Tearing her gaze away she gets the fig mustard from the counter and reads the label as if it holds instructions how not to be so affected by a man. She grabs a spoon, putting 6 teaspoons into the container before adding a healthy amount of olive oil, pretending Ambrose didn't just touch her, and she didn't jerk away from it like she'd been burned. It isn't until she puts the container in the base of the blender and stabs the start button hard that she realizes she's been holding her breath. She wishes people would arrive and fill her apartment with life and chatter, give her something to focus on. The concoction of oil and mustard is smooth but way too thick. She feels Ambrose watching her and tries to prepare for whatever reaction her body decides to throw at her upon facing him when she turns. She's on edge and wants to make light of the situation but she's never felt so utterly unprepared and incapable. She also wants more wine. Desperately. Counting down from three to zero she pivots. For as much confidence the muscular man in front of her normally exudes, he stands there looking helpless and lost now, scratching the back of his neck.

If the situation wouldn't be as tense, it could be humorous, Olivia muses. They could keep dancing awkwardly around each other, or she can try and salvage the situation somehow.

"Erm, could you give me the olive oil?" she asks after just looking at him for a long moment. "Please?" It comes as an afterthought.

He shifts and a second later offers her the bottle. When she takes it her fingertips graze his just barely but they do. Their eyes lock intensely for a moment, and Olivia clutches the bottle to her chest like it's going to save her from the impact of his gaze that now starts to falter as he clears his throat.

"Did I make things awkward?" The question catches Olivia off guard. Her feet are firmly planted on the kitchen floor and yet it feels like she can't find any footing, leave alone words. Did he make things awkward? Hell no. That's all on her, not on him. But how could she possibly tell him that he's the reason she can't think straight.

"Olivia?" He presses gently.

She gets it. They've prepared dinner in this kitchen for two hours, and even putting her foot in her mouth when they started a conversation about race didn't feel as uncomfortable as this. He probably wonders what the hell has changed between then and now. Jesus, even she wonders what is making her feel so out of control around him. It's not the first time but that pull she feels, it's getting stronger. It's no longer something she can ignore.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly, shaking her head. "It's not you. I'm… I'm on edge, but that's all me." It's not a lie and the best she can give him for now.

"Are you sure? Because if I've made you uncomfortable, I really didn't mean to," he tries and scratches his chin, offering her an out. "I can leave if that's better."

That would be better. And it would not be.

"No," she blurts out quickly. "No, don't be ridiculous." She changes gears, deciding it's time she flat out lied to him. "It's just that my boss is coming and he's bringing his partner and I there's not enough wine in this house to calm my nerves." When he looks at her skeptically her shoulders sag. "Really. It's not you, Ambrose." She takes a step towards him and reaches out, squeezing his biceps.

His muscles are wiry and hard beneath her fingertips. It's in stark contrast to the almost silky feel of his tapered suit jacket that she's sure cost a fortune. Momentarily she wonders if he shops alone, or if he has a very gifted suit guy at Harrods or some other high end place. When her thumb brushes across the material her heart starts to thump erratically.

_That's it Olivia._ _Go for spontaneous human combustion, why don't you? _

When she's looking up at him her gaze settles briefly on his lips. They are full and inviting, making her think of their kiss on the cheek gone wrong. She wonders how it would have felt if Ambrose had meant it, if he had captured her mouth with half the intent and commitment her flesh desires. The mere idea of it makes her lips tingle. She hasn't been kissed properly in a very long time.

For a moment she allows herself to indulge in what is not going to happen before he nods his head and tells her okay.

"Okay," she breathes and takes a small step back. It does nothing to slow down her heartbeat. She needs to finish the dressing and get into the dress that's sitting on her bed. It's 5:15 pm, which leaves her with about forty-five minutes, and she hasn't yet set the table for the salad. It's a bittersweet relief that suddenly she's anxious for a very different reason. "I should get this done, they'll be here soon and I'm not even dressed." Turns out her time management is disastrous.

"Why don't you go and get dressed, and I'll finish the dressing," Ambrose offers, cocking his head to the side. While he knows his way around her kitchen by now, she thinks she can't impose on him like that, despite the kind offer. But truth is, she needed a moment to breathe, a moment away from him to get back to her calm and collected self.

"That would be great," she agrees, allowing defeat to settle within. "Thank you."

"No problem."

She nods and sits the bottle of oil down with a clink before she retreats to the safety of her bedroom, only stopping to grab her phone off the coffee table.

…

Double checking her face in the mirror, Olivia decides it's a job well done. Her lips are a shade of nude with just a tinge of delicate pink, underlining her eye make-up of earthy hues and a subtle application of black eyeliner and mascara. She gently tugs at the bateau neck of her black dress, trying to keep it center but the moment her arms fall to the side it shifts back into its previous position, revealing her entire left shoulder and bra strap.

"Crap," she mutters underneath her breath, rolling her shoulders. She pushes the strap down her shoulder, wiggles her torso a little to see what happens and sighs as the cup of her bra slips out of place. "Come on," she pleads, a little irritated. "Don't do this to me."

But it's no use. She either has to opt for a different dress or a strapless bra. The latter used to work much better five, six years ago when her breasts were smaller and firmer. She did spend a small fortune on the dress however, so she will just have to suck it up and move around carefully with the one or other bathroom break to adjust her underwear.

She goes through her drawer, shunting lace and cotton out of the way until she finds the only two strapless bras she owns. Neither is a perfect fit so she picks the one she believes to be the lesser evil. Carefully she slips out of her dress, mindful of the waves her flat iron conjured. She puts on the nude-colored strapless bra and does her best to adjust it so her breasts won't spill out of the cups. She remembers she has tape for this kind of thing somewhere, but God knows where she put it after moving.

With a heavy exhale, Olivia decides this will have to do. It's just for three hours, after all. She puts the dress back on, deciding that's much better. She runs her hand through her wavy, short hair, pleased with her appearance. Confidently she reaches for her phone on the bed, deciding to give Brian a call. It's been a long time since they last spoke, probably six months. It's a little unsettling to be the one getting in touch, and with such clear intentions, too, but looking at her reflection once more she decides it's either that, or she'll climb the walls after tonight. Clearly trying to take the edge off by herself has done nothing as far as Ambrose is concerned.

She inhales and exhales consciously a few times, deciding she feels sexy and confident, and there is absolutely nothing wrong about having needs and doing something about it. Her index finger swipes across the screen of her phone, browsing her contacts until **Cassidy, Brian** catches her eye. She taps onto his name, then onto his number. It rings a couple of times until his voice permeates her ear. It's as rough as his looks, impetuous and wild. Years of working undercover hardened him. When they met again about one and a half years ago she hardly recognized the man she used to work with. Probably that's why they reconnected to begin with, but Olivia realized that she misses parts of the old Brian.

"Cassidy."

"Hey, Brian," she says, turning away from the mirror. "It's Olivia."

"Liv," he drawls her nickname. "Been a while."

"Yeah, it has," she agrees softly, expelling the air in her lungs as she walks towards her nightstand and opens the top drawer. "How have you been?" She's giving her best impression of nonchalant when in fact her nerves flutter.

She pushes aside a pack of tissues, reading glasses, her phone charger and a small tube of hand lotion as he says something about work and how she knows the drill when she finds what she's been looking for. She picks up the condom wrapper, noting it's the last, and checks the expiration date, squinting at the small silver foil packet.

Brian asks how she's been, and she answers and bites her bottom lip as she drops the condom and closes the drawer, deciding to just get it over with.

"So Bri," she starts, clearing her throat. "I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight?" Her voice is thick, and what she doesn't say is clear.

_Do you wanna fuck?_

For a few moments he's deadly silent on the other end of the line.

"Ah shit, Liv," he grinds out, clearly frustrated. "I'm pulling a double." He sounds awfully sorry, a little like he's physically hurting, too and she imagines his pants might be getting uncomfortably tight around his crotch. She likes this about him, how blatantly clear he is about wanting her.

However primal he is in showing it, he makes her feel sexy and wanted. Desirable. Tonight it's the exact thing she would have needed, although it's not Cassidy she wants; it's the man in her living room. The idea of it is both oddly exciting and utterly terrifying.

Disappointed, she sits down on the side of the bed, her voice low. "I see."

"How about a rain check, though," he offers hopefully. "I'm free tomorrow night, say around eight? I'll bring food…"

Olivia rubs her forehead, closing her eyes as she's trying to make up her mind, finding it's probably not a good idea. She starts to think she shouldn't have called to begin with.

"Yeah, erm… I… I actually have a thing tomorrow," she lies, squeezing her eyes shut. A few uncomfortable seconds tick by. She suspects he knows there is no thing, but if he does, he doesn't call her out on it.

"It's good to hear your voice, Liv." She tilts her head up, looking at her ceiling as if it would give her any idea of what to say. God, it was stupid calling him. So, so stupid. "I miss you, you know."

He sounds sincere, and she lets the words sink in. Sometimes she misses him, too. Or maybe she just misses someone to talk to, a warm body next to hers to make her feel a little less lonely. When they first started seeing each other after Brian got shot she had thought they could be something but the truth is, she'd been kidding herself. She has abandonment issues, and he's so goddamn closed off these days, it never would have worked. There are moments when she wishes it had, when she thinks maybe they could have both tried a little harder. But it's no good to dwell on it. They've both decided to move on and leave it in the past.

"Me too, Bri," she breathes into the phone softly.

"Listen, maybe we should have dinner. Whenever you're free," he tries. She clutches the bedspread and wonders if she should be nice or honest. He has always given his best effort to be what she needed. The thing is, she doesn't know what she truly needs or how to go after it, cling to it. Essentially she knows what she wants. It's ridiculously cliché. A man, a child.

At forty-five she's painfully aware that she's running out of time in terms of experiencing motherhood. It's not like she has options, either. She tried for adoption years ago, and they made it clear that she doesn't have a shot in hell with the agencies.

What she had with Brian wasn't on the level she needed. He loved his freedom, the easiness and no-strings-attached nature of their relationship. In parts she liked it, too. It was comfortable. But in the end she knew it wasn't going to go anywhere, and she needed to walk away, if only to open herself up to the waning possibility of something more.

"That's erm… really sweet, Brian but I don't think that would be a good idea," she rasps. "I shouldn't have called, I'm sorry." Through the line she can hear him swallow hard. The quiet between them swells, erupting in a crescendo of silence, words trapped, words unspoken.

There's a pressure in her chest akin to what she felt like when they went separate ways.

"Are you alright, Liv?" She tenses at the concerned tone, then chuckles lightly into the phone.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?" He's bound to think that, she thinks. That something's not quite right. What else is he supposed to think when she calls out of the blue after all this time. She had been the driving force when it came to severing their relationship, their lives. Hell, he's Cassidy, all free and easy, and even she would have been thrown if roles were reversed and he called to ask if he could pass by to fuck.

"I'm sure. I just… it gets lonely sometimes," she admits, although this isn't about loneliness, quite the opposite, it's about all this proximity that's driving her insane.

"I get that," he rasps.

"It's not a very good reason to call, is it?"

"It's a reason, Liv," he responds, and she can hear the corners of his mouth lift in a smile.

It's a reason, indeed.

"Take care, Brian."

"You too, Liv."

She hangs up and closes her eyes, blowing out a labored breath. So much for taking the edge off. It's going to be a damned long evening with nothing at all to look forward to.

_You are so, so fucked, Olivia Benson. _

…

The dinner table is set by the time the intercom announces the arrival of the first guests. The ciabatta is in the oven, salad ready, and the first bottle of wine uncorked and tasted-because of nerves, Olivia had explained. Ambrose hangs back as Olivia buzzes her company in and invites Cragen, who turns out to be her Captain, and his partner Eileen into her home with a heartfelt welcome. The older man pulls Olivia into a hug and presents her with a bottle of wine, which surprises Ambrose. There's almost a paternal quality to the display of affection her Captain bestows upon Olivia as he thanks her for the invite.

"Eileen, thank you so much for coming." The women don't hug, but their hello is warm though brief.

"No, thank you," the woman says, looking around. "What a beautiful home you have."

"I've only been here a couple of months, but it's coming together piece by piece," Olivia nods and takes their coats before leading them further into the room. "Let me just introduce you. Captain, Eileen, this is my friend, Ambrose Williams." He steps closer, shaking hands. "Ambrose, Captain Donald Cragen and his partner Eileen."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both," Ambrose says sincerely as the other man sizes him up, but not uncomfortably so. It's not her boss Olivia has warned him about, but her partner, Nick.

"Would you like some wine, Eileen?" Olivia inquires.

"Yes, please, that would be lovely," the older woman says around a warm smile.

"Captain, I have water, seltzer, juice..."

"I'll have water, thank you."

"Ambrose? Red or white?"

"Red," he smiles gratefully, before focusing on Eileen, asking her what she does for a living.

"Oh, I'm retired, the only work I do these days is for a non-profit. We fund-raise for LGBTQ youth programs in the city. We have a few social workers who volunteer and host theme nights."

"You do? That's impressive. My daughter's part of the community, so I know how important it is for teenagers to have a safe space and people to confide in."

"So, you have a teenage daughter?"

"Not anymore, she's twenty-one," Ambrose clarifies as Olivia, a little hurriedly, serves her guests beverages. The buzzer sounds again. He points at the door, "Shall I-"

"I've got it." Olivia rushes past him, already a little frazzled. It shows that she isn't very experienced hosting parties. She gets the door and this time it's two men. The taller one has brought a bouquet of flowers and congratulates her while the shorter of the two rolls his eyes and merely greets her with "Hey Liv."

Olivia, while awkwardly holding the flowers, takes care of their coats. The buzzer goes off once more.

"Let me get those," Eileen steps in after pressing her glass into Cragen's hand, taking the heavy winter attire and hanging them on the rack before relieving Olivia of the flowers.

"Thank you," Olivia mouths, letting in a blonde woman in the already-crowded entry. Ambrose surmises the other woman is in her mid- to late thirties. She instantly apologizes for being late.

"Rollins, thank you for coming. You're just on time," Olivia assures.

Smiles are exchanged-genuine though awkward-all around. Then there is a moment where everyone stares at each other, barely moving. Ambrose thinks it's quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The blonde slips out of her jacket and takes off her scarf while the tall man's eyes, no doubt he's Olivia's partner, are on him. Although his face is relaxed, it is clear the man is sizing him up. While Ambrose isn't intimidated, it's not very comfortable to be under the microscope, either. Instead of staring back at Olivia's partner, he focuses on his friend. Liv's smile is tense as she squeezes her hands and starts the introductions.

"So, everyone, this is Captain Cragen's partner, Eileen, and this is my friend Ambrose. Ambrose and Eileen, my partner, Nick Amaro, Fin Tutuola, and Amanda Rollins." Smiling, she interlaces her fingers for a moment and steps closer to Ambrose. "Can I get anyone a drink?"

They all speak at once, leaving Olivia slightly overwhelmed.

"What you got, Liv?" Fin asks, and she rattles off the list of beverages. He decides on a beer while Rollins explains that she'll wait for dinner to start.

"Can I help?" Olivia smiles at the blonde gratefully and tips her head toward the kitchen, leading the way. Amanda, with her obvious southern manners, follows.

"So," Ambrose asks the two detectives he finds himself in company of. "How long have you known Olivia?"

Nick, tucking both hands in his pockets, smiles easily. Ambrose has a feeling that smile could turn feral in a flash. "She's been my partner for three years," he explains, sounding proud but smug. "How about you, Mr… what was it?"

"Ambrose is fine," he offers. "And Liv and I go way back."

"Do you? Funny," Amaro says slyly. "She never mentioned you."

"That makes sense, we only ran into each other again about three months ago," Ambrose explains, trying not to be bothered by the underlying hostility. "What about you-was it Fin?"

"Yeah. Liv's been with SVU 'bout two years longer'n me. We've been working together for about fourteen years. Couldn't ask for anyone better," Fin praises, accepting the bottle of beer from his partner. "Thanks, Amanda." After a healthy swig from the chilled bottle he regards Ambrose again. "You got any embarrassing stories about Liv, yet?"

Ambrose chuckles. "No. I'd guess that's more your area, after that long." There are a couple of anecdotes from their college days, of course, but he wouldn't share them without checking with Olivia first.

"How did you two meet then… 'way back'?" Nick inquires curiously, smiling over the wine glass the blonde offered him just seconds ago. He takes a sip that's clearly calculated to be casual, but his gaze doesn't leave Ambrose's face once.

If Ambrose had ever wondered what it's like to be interrogated, he's certainly getting a taste of it now.

"We were in college together," Ambrose says automatically.

"At Siena?"

"Correct." He smiles tightly as Olivia reappears and gestures to the table she had laid out perfectly before everyone's arrival.

"Everyone, the salad is ready, we can start any time."

For a moment the room bustles with activity as everyone finds places. Nick purposefully seats himself directly across from Ambrose while Fin occupies the seat to Ambrose's left. The blonde detective, Amanda, sits next to Nick and the Captain, with Eileen, sits at one end of the table while leaving the head of the table for Olivia.

"So you were at Siena together. And then?"

"I got married shortly after and moved to London with my wife," Ambrose says, terse but not unfriendly.

"Ah, so that's where that accent comes from," says the blonde with intrigue, hitting the notes of her own accent a little harder and smiling so wide that dimples pop in her cheeks.

"So...your wife," Nick points to Ambrose's bare finger, "couldn't join us today?"

Ambrose pauses, trying to keep his body's tension out of his face. He glances at Olivia, who looks at him apologetically before shortly glaring at her partner. While Nick can't possibly know about Claire the question is a sucker punch. He takes a brief moment and decides he just...can't. There's nothing to say. Not with such an audience, not when he's not told Olivia already.

"No. She couldn't." He manages a tight smile and distracts himself with a sip of wine.

The oven timer goes off, seconds too late, if anyone asks Ambrose, and Olivia pops up like a jack-in-the-box.

"You need me to-" Rollins is already halfway to her feet.

"I've got it, Rollins...Amanda. Thank you."

Olivia returns in a minute and places a basket of ciabatta on the table and pushes the salad bowl a few inches towards Nick, hoping he'll be busy for a moment and shut the hell up. Everyone fills their plate and praises the dressing in particular. It does taste amazing and nothing like her honey-mustard dressing. She isn't sure what all Ambrose has added to it but she's glad he did.

While Olivia cooks the pasta and shrimp, the table talks work. While it is interesting to hear about Olivia's job, Ambrose falls into his own conversation with Eileen, who seemingly doesn't care for cop talk. They talk about Ambrose's job and the frequent business trips to London, as well as Amelia and Eileen's three adult children.

With the main course served and Eileen looking mighty uncomfortable as Fin talks strange cases and coat fetishes, Olivia interrupts, asking the guys to not talk shop. Cragen seems grateful for it, and for a moment they eat in silence. Ambrose makes sure everyone has a refill of wine, missing Olivia's cue to leave the Captain's. All eyes are on him, and it's dead silent at the table for a change.

"I'm not drinking, actually," the older man says kindly, emphasizing that it's not a problem as Ambrose apologizes and sits back down.

He hears Nick whisper to Amanda underneath his breath what sounds like 'Guy can't take a hint'. By the way the detective gives a start he's pretty sure Liv kicked him underneath the table. The blonde next to Nick looks half amused, half embarrassed and one hundred percent flushed, finishing what must be her third glass of wine.

...

By the time they finish with dessert Olivia is breathing more easily, seeing that everything went well-considering. The food was largely approved (Fin refused to touch the shrimp, eyeing the seafood like it was something nasty), and Nick had refrained from taking any more obvious digs at Ambrose, probably sensing that she was very close to throttling him at the table.

Despite her protest Ambrose, Eileen and Cragen get up to take care of the dishes, and Fin excuses himself to make a call. Amanda, nursing her glass, now occupies a seat next to Olivia. When Ambrose gathers the last dessert glasses, the blonde eyes her, with her mouth slightly agape, then unabashedly lets her gaze drop to the his behind and back to Liv.

"So hot."

Olivia, mortified, gapes at the blonde, starting to mutter something unintelligible that doesn't seem to faze the female detective but ensures she has her partner's attention.

Amanda, grinning against the rim of her glass, takes another sip of wine and flicks her eyebrow. "Enjoy _that_ one."

"Rollins! It's not like that," she stammers, feeling her cheeks flush. She didn't expect Amanda might think they are sleeping together. More than that she is terrified that someone could hear her talk, however low the blonde detective's voice has dropped. She can see Ambrose at the sink from across the breakfast bar, praying he's blissfully unaware of the conversation taking place at the table. Nick is obviously very aware, tension radiating hotly off his body as he's staring at Rollins. If it hadn't been blatantly apparent that these two are walking on a very thin, very breakable thread before, it certainly is now. Olivia knows what jealousy looks like and it's written all over her partner's face.

"No? Liv, I gotta admit, if you don't want him," she lets it hang for a moment. "I mean, look at that ass." As if to make a point the blonde lifts her head to get an eyeful of said ass and indulges in some more wine, raising her eyebrow at Nick when she catches his stare. He's pissed off all right.

"What? I said what I said," Amanda shrugs carelessly, pouring Amaro some more wine. "Loosen up, choir boy."

"Choir boy? Really?" He chews on that, and Olivia wonders if this is the point of the night when things start to spiral.

"Be happy for your partner. At least she'll get laid. Or she could-if she wanted to." Amanda grins at Olivia crookedly but decides to let her off the hook when the brunette stares wide-eyed. "I'm kidding, Liv."

No matter how she spins it, it's not funny. She and Rollins have become much more friendly with each other, but Olivia doesn't think they'll ever be close enough to discuss her sex life because she doesn't do that with anyone but the man she's actually having sex with. What's worse is that everything Amanda has been saying hits too close to home. She needs a moment, so she excuses herself and heads to the bathroom. Once the door clicks shut behind her, she leans against it and combs a hand through her hair. At this rate, she's not sure if she's going to make it through the night without further embarrassment. Nick has given Ambrose a hard time, just like she had expected. She hadn't factored in Rollins' loose tongue pointing out the obvious about her friend's physical appearance.

She presses her eyes closed, wondering how she's going to get through the rest of the evening. She just hopes Cragen is going to say whatever it was he wanted to tell them, like he'd mentioned just before her brief toast over the main course. At this point she just wants to hide out in here and not come back out until everyone has left. She scoffs at how that's not an option.

Making the most of her reprieve, Olivia reapplies a thin coat of her favorite lipstick and adjusts her bra, thankful it's doing its job. When she hears chatter from the living room, she decides to go back and play hostess, finding everyone back at the table with their glasses refilled.

"There she is," Cragen announces and gets up, gesturing at Olivia's seat. She ducks her head when all eyes are on her, and sits down. "Everybody," he clears his throat. "I'd like to say something"

Conversation falls away as everyone at the table regards the head of the unit.

"I know that you've been worried with all the changes at 1PP."

"Here it comes," Fin mutters at Amaro who tenses. Olivia, worriedly, glances at the table, feeling Ambrose's eyes on her. For weeks she's been wondering about her fate after taking the Sergeant's exam. They all know it is highly unlikely that they will let her stay with SVU.

"The good news is that a lot of people are leaving the department because of these changes and 1PP can't spare a new Sergeant for our unit. So they have agreed to let Detective-I mean Sergeant Benson-stay on at SVU."

Her eyes flit across the table, meeting Cragen's, checking if she's heard correctly. She's had quite a few sleepless nights, wondering where she'll end up once 1PP has made a decision.

"Sweet," Amaro exclaims.

"That's beautiful," Fin joins in and looking at him Olivia thinks he must be no less relieved than she is. He had made no secret of his dislike over her promotion, not because he didn't think she deserved it, but because he didn't want her to transfer out.

"Hallelujah," Amanda raises her glass and everybody follows suit.

Cragen's face splits into the biggest smile Olivia has ever seen on the man, not that there have been many. She can tell he takes pride in her achievement, and as he toasts to her she can't hide how emotional it makes her. Her Captain has always been more than just her supervisor. He's been a friend, a mentor, a confidant.

"Congratulations." He beams at her, and Olivia, humbly, presses one hand against her chest while raising her glass with the other.

"Thank you, Captain."

They all clink glasses and drink while Olivia looks at Ambrose, and he whispers congratulations to her, hugging her affectionately, murmuring into her ear. "Proud of you."

Before she gets to take a sip herself Cragen speaks again.

"About that…"

Everyone perks up.

"I didn't wanna announce this until Liv's situation got resolved but it's done," he says, looking at each of the detectives briefly before smiling at Eileen and confidently adding "and so am I."

"What?"

"Captain-," Olivia stares. She's shocked, unable to fully grasp what is happening, what he's saying. She's wondering if it's some kind of joke but sees him exchange an endearing glance with Eileen that tells her he's serious. He's earned it. God knows he has, but it's hard to imagine the squad under someone else's command. They had temporary reassignments, of course but they were just that-temporary. For as long as Olivia's been here, so has Cragen.

"Where you gon' go, Captain?" Fin asks, no less thrown than the rest of them.

"Around the world, actually," he says softly, putting his arm around Eileen's waist, pulling her against him.

"We have tickets for a six-month cruise," she explains, looking up at Cragen fondly.

Olivia nods slowly, eyes moist with emotion. He has plans. A life to live.

"Wow. Okay," Amanda chuckles softly but her words are tinged with sadness and the smile dies on her face before it reaches her eyes.

"Wait, wait. What's gonna happen now-," Amaro asks, arms akimbo.

"Now you do what Benson says."

"What are you talking about?" She looks at him in confusion, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"As of Monday morning, Sergeant Benson will act as commanding officer at SVU," he's speaking to her directly now. "You're more than ready, Liv."

She swallows audibly and shakes her head at him in a state of denial, wondering what the hell is happening. This was supposed to be a housewarming and a bit of a celebration after passing the Sergeant's exam, not a farewell party. "Don," she manages thickly, thinking she's going to be sick with nerves. He's wrong. She's not ready. She's not prepared for this at all.

"You have a team of the best detectives I've had the pleasure working with, Olivia. Now, it's not gonna be easy, but, for what it's worth? I always knew you had it in you, and I couldn't be prouder to leave, knowing you'll get to prove yourself."

"You're really doing this?"

"You bet I am," he assures her and pushes his chair back. "Actually, I think I'm gonna call it a night. We have suitcases to pack."

"That's it? Ju-just like that?" Amanda stammers.

"I'll see you on Monday when I pick up a couple more boxes but yes, that's it, Rollins."

Nobody seems to know what to say. It's Fin who finally starts rapping his knuckles on the table. Amanda follows suit, her face tight, obviously trying not to broadcast her emotions to everyone else in the room. Amaro and Ambrose join in, then Eileen.

In the end it's just Olivia and Cragen, looking at each other across the table. With both palms flush against the table top she shakes her head at her Captain, eyes brimming with tears of sadness and happiness alike. Olivia doesn't know what to feel first and foremost, not when nothing has had the chance to sink in. She still refuses to resign herself to this new reality. Cragen nods at her, smiling. A tear slides across the slope of her cheek and she wipes it away and closes her eyes briefly. Then, after taking a deep breath, she gives in and joins her squad.

...

Cragen, Eileen and Fin leave first, Amanda and Nick say their goodbyes not fifteen minutes later. By 10 pm it's just him and Liv. She looks exhausted as she collects the wine glasses, two in each hand at a time, and sets them by the sink.

"Let me get that," Ambrose offers, starting to run the water and adding dish soap.

"You don't have to."

"I know," he says simply. There is no way he's going to leave her with the clean up now that everybody else has left. Her small dishwasher is loaded with plates and water glasses but the pot, pan, bowls and dessert glasses won't wash themselves up. The evening has obviously been energy-sapping for Olivia.

"Thanks," she murmurs, making her way back to the dinner table. They work alongside each other with hardly any conversation for forty minutes, until everything is clean and back where it belongs.

"Why don't you sit down," Ambrose offers. "Try to unwind. I'll make you a cup of tea."

"I'm fine," Liv responds, even though she looks anything but.

"I didn't say you weren't."

She looks at him with a small frown, her lips a thin line, as if she tries to decide what to say next. Instead she drops onto the couch with her hands in her lap and exhales. She looks like hell. Beautiful, but completely spent. All night she's been catering to other people's needs, suffered through the bullshit of her overbearing partner, and found out that her Captain is throwing in the towel, and she is expected to take his place. While Ambrose has no idea how these things work within the NYPD, he understands Olivia is now in charge of the squad. He puts the kettle on the stove, finds a box of herbal tea in one of her cabinets, and hangs one bag into a big ceramic mug.

Once the steaming beverage is ready, he sits it on the coffee table and takes a seat next to her, just taking Olivia in. After a few moments she glances at him, her eyes small with fatigue.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," he says sincerely. "A lot to take in tonight, wasn't it?"

Dropping her face into her hands Olivia sighs, then shakes her head a little.

"I don't even know what to think," she admits in a whisper. "I didn't think they'd let me stay on at SVU, and now…" she lets it hang, looking at him. Ambrose can see the confusion caused by everything that transpired earlier.

"It's good though, isn't it?" He tries to put things into perspective for her.

"Getting to stay, yeah," she agrees slowly. "I'm not sure I'm ready for everything else, though," she breathes out. "I thought I'd be his number two for at least seven, eight months if they didn't transfer me out."

"Your Captain thinks you're ready. You're going to grow into it, Liv," he assures her. He understands she's hesitant, that it's a lot of change in very little time. "Give yourself some time to let it sink in. This was sprung on you tonight. I'm sure by tomorrow you're going to feel a little more confident about it."

She leans back into the cushions. "You're probably right." She doesn't sound too convinced as she turns her head towards him. "I'm sorry about Nick. I told him to behave but…"

"I get it. He's looking out for you. I guess I should skip the next dinner party, though," he smiles. "Don't want his blood pressure to skyrocket because of me. Although I really don't understand why he's been acting like I'm the enemy."

"You're a man. That's enough. Don't take it personally. He's just… being Nick. Underneath that overprotective shell he's harmless."

"Were you involved?" It would explain why he'd behaved like a Neanderthal.

"With Nick?" Olivia asks, snorting with amusement. "No. It's not jealousy. Like you said he's just… trying to look out for me. Not that I want him to." She sits back up and reaches for the steaming tea, tipping her lips to the mug to sip carefully. "It could've been worse though." She gazes at him over the mug, blowing her tea for a moment as Ambrose looks at her curiously. "You should've met my old partner. He makes Amaro look like a fluffy kitten."

"Is it a cop thing?"

"Hell, I don't know, I steer clear of other people's business," she chuckles and sits the tea back down. "I seem to attract the overprotective kind when it comes to my work life."

"He knows we're just friends, right?"

"You mean did I tell him? Yes. Does he believe that? Probably not," she shrugs, falling back into the cushions of her sofa. "I told you my social circle pretty much revolves around the people I work with so…," she drawls with a pained facial expression and exhales audibly.

It explains why even Eileen, although very respectfully, asked him for how long they've been seeing each other as they loaded the dishwasher.

"Eileen wondered about the nature of our 'friendship', too. Asked me for how long we've been seeing each other."

Olivia slowly turns her head at him, raising one brow for a moment. "Great," she snorts, then rolls her eyes.

"Apparently we make a 'beautiful' couple," Ambrose grins.

"She said that? Geez. I'm sorry." Olivia grimaces and combs a hand through her hair and scratches her head in the process.

„Why sorry? You gotta admit, we do look good together," he says easily. He is definitely not offended that Eileen assumed they were dating.

"Right," she chuckles. "We're both very pretty people. And this string of conversation proves we're conceited, too."

"Well, assumptions about our 'relationship status' aside, your co-workers seem to care about you a lot." Ambrose tells her.

"Yeah, I… I guess they do," she nods. "Sometimes they're like… family to me, you know? The oddly dysfunctional kind," she laughs out, but despite the sound there's sadness in her eyes. "But we stick together when it counts." She pauses briefly. "God I'm beat."

Ambrose takes it as his cue to leave and straightens up on her sofa. "I should get going. I Don't wanna keep you up for longer than necessary."

"Oh. I didn't mean to make it sound like I want you out," Olivia says quickly.

"It's fine, Liv. It's late, and you said it, you're beat."

"I am but I'm not going to be able to go to sleep anytime soon and I… it's nice. To have someone around." Ambrose can relate to that. He enjoys Olivia's company immensely.

"That's nice to hear," he says sincerely around a smile.

"Could you maybe stay for just a little bit longer?" She sounds hopeful but hesitant, as if she might be asking for too much. He suspects she doesn't usually ask for the things she needs. Ambrose wordlessly takes off his jacket and gets as comfortable on the sofa as Olivia, leaning back into the cushions.

For a few minutes they both just sit, neither of them saying anything. Eventually Olivia lets her head fall against Ambrose's shoulder. She's tense at first but then, slowly, her body relaxes.

"Thank you," Olivia breathes after a few more beats.

"For what?" As far as he's concerned she has no reason to thank him.

"All of it?" Her eyes are level with his shoulder and she cocks her head at an angle that allows her to look at him.

"Welcome," he says just above a whisper and his throat runs dry when she casts a weary smile and then sinks into him more comfortably.

...

**End notes: Yep, Liv's got it bad for Ambrose. I can't blame her. I don't know if I've ever mentioned it but in my imagination Ambrose looks like a very sexy mix of Idris Elba and Chiwetel Ejiofor... just sayin'. *cough* As always I'm dying to hear what you think of this one. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes: So, with a lot of more time due to the current global Corona Virus crisis I had a bit of time to write. **

**To get to reviews: I KNOW Ambrose needs to tell Liv about Claire. I know. But do you know when you missed the opportunity once and then you missed it twice and somehow it wasn't the right time when it's come up the third time? You know it needs to be addressed but each time you didn't only seems to make it much harder? That's what's going on here. I know it seems like he's being a dick but he's... well... he's really not - at least he's not doing it to purposely hurt anyone. That being said... things are heating up. **

**...**

Olivia is grateful to get a break, fairly certain she is going to roll her eyes at the next guy who's going to let their eyes rake all over her body. Olivia knows she might as well take it as a compliment but it's quite tiring. Being a woman is not an actual accomplishment, so she doesn't understand all that ogling from the men in the room. She has just become Sergeant and is now heading Special Victims. Not a single person has forwarded congratulations for that. As she leans against the wall and pulls her phone out of her clutch a content smile settles on her face. Ambrose had tried to call her and sent her a couple of messages, inquiring about her ‚work thing', encouraging her to let the champagne work for her. Reading his words she laughs, throwing her head back a little as she types in a message of her own. From the corner of her eye she sees Nick walking towards her, both hands shoved into his pockets, his suit jacket open.

„Catching a break?"

„Something like that," she smiles, pushing the button on the right side of her iPhone. The screen goes dark. „Trying to envision myself doing what I intended to do. Remind me why I'm here?"

„Because Dodds told you to be here? You're one of the big shots now, time to suck it up to people," he grins. „So, you had actual plans?"

„Absolutely. They involved my very good friend Merlot and a hot bath, maybe a movie." Her phone lights up with a message.

**12/31/2013 10:23 pm **

**Ambrose **

_I'm living a pretty sad existence here. To answer your question: No, I'm not doing anything. It's pretty boring. Let's kill two birds with one stone: you sneak out and come here. I'm saving you from your Chief and you're saving me from finishing that pizza I'm about to order by myself. :-p_

Feeling Nick's inquisitive eyes on her as she reads the text, Olivia bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling. She wonders if that's an invitation hiding behind the tongue-out emoji, realizing she'd rather be anywhere but here. And spending time with Ambrose, that actually makes her feel very excited.

„Something important?" Amaro asks.

Olivia sees through his nonchalance and shrugs easily. „Nah. Just my brother telling me Happy New Year. I should probably…," she nods at the device in her hand.

„Oh yeah. Absolutely. Go ahead," Nick agrees. „I didn't know you were back in touch," he then adds, failing to keep the suspicion out of his voice as Olivia types.

Liv briefly glances up at her partner. „We aren't."

„Ah. So it's just…"

„Niceties," she says around a smile that is supposed to say it doesn't mean anything. Lying to her partner makes Ambrose feel like her dirty little secret when there is _nothing_ to be secretive about. They way Nick had behaved toward her friend at the dinner party however, it had made her uncomfortable. She doesn't want to give Amaro any reason to ask about Ambrose or the extent of their relationship, however innocent it is.

**12/31/2013 10:24 **

**Olivia**

_Is that an invitation? If it is, consider it a done deal. All the champagne in the world can't match up to pizza. _

„I'm actually planning on heading out," she announces. Even if it turns out Ambrose's invitation wasn't serious, she'll happily make her way home for a quiet night since Rollins had volunteered to be on call.

„Sounds good. You need a lift?"

„Actually, I think I'm going to take a cab, maybe grab something to eat on the way home." The crab cakes weren't all that good. Again her phone buzzes but she doesn't look, instead she straightens her body and walks past Nick, gingerly patting his shoulder. „Night, Nick."

„You're not really going home, are you?"

It makes Olivia stop in her tracks and briefly her eyes fall shut. Turns out she isn't a good liar.

„Actually, I don't know yet," she says truthfully.

„And that wasn't your brother, I suppose." There is no reproach in Amaro's tone.

"No, that wasn't my brother," she breathes out and turns around, facing her partner once more, the expression on her face half sympathetic and half daring. "Is that a problem?"

Nick, with his hands in his suit pockets, gives a little shrug. "Not a problem," he says easily.

"Good," Liv tells him around a small smile. "See you on Thursday then?" She took January 1st off, agreeing they'd only call her in if necessary. Cragen's sudden departure was responsible for many hours of overtime that Olivia was using to catch up on all their open cases. She also had to acquaint herself with all the office politics and bureaucratics she'd never been responsible for. The past couple of weeks have been stressful and tiring. There wasn't a single day she hasn't worked herself raw, knowing she had to prove herself to 1PP and the Chief to stay in command.

"Thursday," Amaro agrees before she walks past him. She makes her goodbyes to the Chief and a few of the other higher horses before getting her coat and making a quick exit, checking her phone in the lobby of the building.

**12/31/2013 10:26**

**Ambrose**

_Pepperoni and basil ok? _

Smiling at the device in her hands, Olivia quickly types in a reply. She thinks she might regret this decision if his proximity is going to send her spiraling with sexual desire again but it's not enough to keep her from going.

**12/31/2013 10:42 **

**Olivia**

_Perfect. I need your address. I think I'll be 45 minutes._

It takes Olivia closer to sixty minutes until she's in front of the wrought-iron gate of Ambrose's West Village townhouse co-op at Charles Street. It leads into a lit front garden that she imagines must be beautiful in spring and summer. The gate creaks as she opens and closes it, making her way along the pathway of the landscaped garden to the front door. A chill crawls up her bare legs as Olivia rings the doorbell. Ambrose must have seen her arriving because the black door opens three seconds later. He's smiling at her from the lobby, wearing a light blue sweater and dark jeans, inviting her in.

„Hey. Welcome. Come on in." He breathes a gentle kiss on her cheek upon stepping inside, his hand purposefully resting against her hip even when he takes a small step back. „Let me take your coat."

Ambrose helps her out of her winter attire, revealing a royal blue dress that's accentuating Olivia's curves much more than the black option she wore for the dinner party. She can see that his eyes are on her and suspects he likes what he sees by the way his lips lift in what she can only define as a smirk.

„Thank you," she smiles sheepishly, looking around in the small stylish foyer. „It's good to see you."

„You too," Ambrose gives back, his eyes quickly raking over Olivia's body once more. It doesn't feel predatory or uncomfortable, and she's far from wanting to roll her eyes. In fact it makes her knees feel a little weak and her stomach flutters.

„Shall we?" He's gesturing towards the adjacent room that's connected through black, open contemporary styled double doors. Olivia walks through, her heels clicking on the oversized high gloss finish tiles. She takes the living room in. It's airy and light, beneath 12-foot ceilings, decorated mostly in black and white with several seating areas.

„Wow," Olivia breathes, looking at her surroundings. There is art on the walls, a leather couch to her left and a dining table for six further in the room. A short set of stairs is in the back near a wall with jute accents that gives the place a warmer, less pretentious flair. „This is nice." Although the clean structures aren't necessarily how she would decorate her home, Olivia has to admit it looks stunning. But then everything about this place is clearly out of her price range.

Olivia's eyes follow the sound of snoring. In a matte black leather dog bed right next to the sofa a french bulldog with speckled white fur sleeps. It seems he's not a good watch dog because he doesn't seem bothered by the stranger in his home. In fact he doesn't even crack an eye.

„That's Homer," Ambrose explains. Upon hearing his name the dog inhales more heavily and opens his tubby, dark eyes.

„He seems pretty chill," Olivia cocks her head and inspects the animal for a bit longer.

„He's old. His days pretty much consist of sleep, food, three short walks, a lot more sleep and lots of TLC. You'll see."

The dog grumbles and snorts briefly. It sounds like Homer is not amused as he holds Olivia's eye, then gets up a little shakily and trots over, his stubby fore and rear legs oddly out of sync. He stops right in front of Olivia, briefly sniffs at her bare legs and looks up at her expectantly.

„This is where the TLC part comes in, huh?" She looks down at the dog with the bat-like ears and hunkers down, petting the animal. Instantly Homer starts panting, trying to push his snout in between Oliva's closed legs. "Nah, don't do that," she tells him, causing him to look up at her. He's missing all of his front teeth except two. One of them crookedly juts out of his jaw. He has bad breath and the amount of white behind his dark brown eyes makes him look kind of funny. He's not a very handsome dog but there's something strangely endearing about him.

Olivia sinks her fingers into the surprisingly soft fur at the base of his neck and ruffles it. "Hey Homer," she says, and he takes a step closer and sits, visibly enjoying the attention. "Hey cutie," she coos. "You like that?" Smiling, Olivia keeps rubbing the bulldog from head to back. It causes an inexplicably serene feeling. Homer basks in every single motion of her hand. In a different life, with a different job, Olivia figures she'd have a dog. As a child, she'd always wanted one, desperately so.

"He's a pretty good dog… for a dog," Ambrose jokes lightly as Olivia stands back up.

"I can see that."

"The pizza place called ten minutes ago. It's gonna be a while, they have more orders than expected."

"Not so surprising on New Year's Eve, is it?"

"Probably not. Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Oh, please," Olivia breathes out. Wine is definitely one of the things she came for.

"Was it that bad?" Ambrose asks empathetically, leading the way towards the back of the room and the steps leading up to his kitchen.

„Well, let's say there's a reason I generally skip this kind of thing. Guess now I can't anymore, being CO and all."

"How's that going for you?"

"It's a challenge, but I'm getting there. I wasn't prepared for the amount of… I don't even know… mothering I'd have to do? It's a game changer for sure, going from detective to commander."

Olivia looks around, taking in the distinctive yet understated design of the matte dark gray cabinets against white walls. To her left there is a breakfast nook for two tucked into the room, that makes the space modern yet cozy. When Ambrose reaches for one of the bottles of wine, displayed on an integrated wine rack, Olivia touches the white marble worktop and slides her hand across the cold, smooth surface. Fresh herbs are planted in a built-in planter, spreading a sweet scent. The entire place with its contemporary twist is stunning.

"Chardonnay, okay?" Ambrose inquires, showing her the label of Beaux Frére.

„More than okay," she nods her agreement and watches Ambrose grab two wine glasses from one of the cabinets. „So, how was Christmas for you?"

He looks at Liv while he uncorks the wine. „Pretty good, actually. Stressful with the flights, though. I hate flying during the holiday season. Everybody's so stressed and ill-tempered," grimaces Ambrose.

"I can imagine, people are a nightmare when they're not traveling," Olivia quips. "And your daughter stayed in the UK?"

"Yes. She's staying with friends and is going to be back Sunday night. They're probably pre-gaming as we speak," he says, showing how unimpressed he is by shaking his head. "They're throwing a house party, and I should probably be glad that it's not at mine. Place'll probably be trashed."

"That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Ambrose sighs. "I mean, her girls are great. Lovely, really. But the partying ain't pretty." He pours the wine and picks up both glasses, putting one in Olivia's hand.

"Thank you." Olivia noses the wine and closes her eyes. She takes a sip and smiles as the perfectly balanced aromatics come through and spread on her tongue. The man knows good wine.

"Good?" Ambrose takes a sip himself, smiling around a small mouthful.

"Mhh. Heavenly."

"There's something I wanted to show you," Ambrose says and pivots, clearly expecting her to follow as he walks back to his living room. He takes a photo album with green binding, then leads Olivia to the couch where they both sit.

"Oh, are those the pictures from college you talked about?" Instantly Olivia's interest is piqued, and she scoots closer on the sofa as Ambrose nods his head yes.

"Yes. I thought maybe you'd like to see them."

"You bet I wanna see 'em," she agrees curiously when he opens a page and puts the album on her lap so she'll be able to look at them closely.

"Oh my god," she chuckles, moving her head closer at the very first picture she sees of herself. She is holding a beer bottle, talking to some other girl. "My hair was so bad. What was it about perms that was so appealing at the time?"

"There was worse, trust me," Ambrose assures.

Liv moves on, looking at a picture of just Ambrose. "You look like a bit of a gawky version of young Will Smith here," she grins at him. "It was kinda cute, tho."

"Gawky? Really?" He asks, mock-offended.

"Well, you were just very tall and very lean. It's not a bad thing."

"Really?" he insists, but there's an amused glint in his eyes that Olivia finds intriguing.

"May I stress that I also said it was cute," she says matter of factly, the corners of her mouth lifting into a grin.

"Kinda."

"Huh?"

"You said kinda cute. It defeats the whole thing."

"It does?" Olivia asks, ponders it, then shrugs her shoulders lightly. "Oh well, have it your way then."

He laughs out loud, and Olivia, biting her bottom lip, turns the page.

"Oh, I remember this," she says in awe and snaps the fingers of her right hand in quick succession a few times. "We always got milkshakes at that place, what was it called again? P-P...Pete's!" They served the best milkshake in the area. Olivia and Ambrose, among other students, frequented the small diner regularly.

"Pete's! That's right."

"Never had a strawberry milkshake like that again in my life," Olivia muses, realizing how long it's been. "God, I'm old." The years have passed by so fast it seems. For all of her life she's been working, day in and day out. In fact it has been her whole life for all these years. She can no longer remember what it felt like to be young and a little bit reckless. She has no idea how once, so many years ago, she was still open and hopeful in regards to finding someone to share her life with.

It almost feels like she's never going to find it. The men in her life had come and gone. She'd tried, but it had never lasted, never felt quite right. And sometimes, well, most of the time, Olivia thinks that maybe love isn't meant for her. That she's bound to stay alone with the occasional brief relationship that gives her a taste of what things could be like if only they were right.

"You're not old," Ambrose chastises.

She looks at him and only sees sincerity in his eyes. As if it's completely foreign to him to hear a woman of forty-four say she's old.

"I feel like it," Olivia says honestly, her throat tightening. Sometimes, at night, she wonders if life has passed her by. If she dedicated her best years to the job. She reaches for her glass and takes a sip of wine, hoping it will blur the lines between reality and regrets. She looks at Ambrose then, scrutinizing him, realizing he's so much more handsome than she could have imagined twenty-three years ago. "Don't you? You've got a daughter who's all grown up," she says, fumbling for something. She can see him swallow and briefly glance away from her.

"I don't feel old…," his words trail off and for a few moments he's silent. It seems it's hard for him to retain eye contact with her. "but I do feel tired."

Slowly, Olivia nods. She knows the feeling. Probably it has to do with divorcing and moving from Europe to the States while raising a kid. It would take a toll on anyone. Their lives couldn't be more different, and yet they both seem to be exhausted from living. A part of her is curious about Claire, but Olivia decides it'd be in poor taste to ask about Ambrose's ex-wife and the circumstances leading to their divorce, so she keeps her mouth shut. If he wants to talk to her about it, she trusts he will.

"Yeah. I… I get that," Olivia admits in response.

The clock strikes midnight. Neither of them notices until at 12:01 am Ambrose's phone vibrates. He smiles as he reads the message, then looks at Olivia.

"It's Amelia," he clarifies. "Happy New Year, Liv."

Realizing it must be midnight, Olivia smiles softly. "Happy New Year," she says back.

Ambrose picks up his wine, and holds it up to toast to her so Olivia does the same. They clink glasses and sip the wine, gazing at each other over their glasses as they do so. The desire she experienced the last time they were together rumbles to life, and the Chardonnay doesn't numb it in the least.

She puts her glass down and focuses on the photographs, trying to deflate Ambrose's attention on her, but she can feel his gaze. It's setting her insides on fire. He replies, Olivia assumes, to his daughter and for a little while it's quiet between the two of them as they continue on looking at their college pictures but soon they laugh again, getting tangled up in memories and conversation.

The pizza arrives well after midnight.

As Ambrose gets them plates and napkins Olivia takes a look around. The art on the walls is impressive and so is the entire interior design. Further in the back is the dining area. Two framed pictures on top of a server in the same style of the kitchen furniture attract Olivia's attention. She walks over to take a closer look. The picture in the bigger frame shows the portrait of a young woman, African American, although her skin tone is lighter than Ambrose's. Striking hazel eyes with golden undertones and prominent freckles across her nose and cheeks draw Olivia in.

When she looks at the smaller picture in a golden frame that is showing three people Ambrose and a red-head among them, Olivia has no doubt that the young woman is Ambrose's daughter. She picks the picture up, her gaze fixating on the obviously happy couple. She remembers Claire from pictures Ambrose had shown her in college but in this one she is outstandingly beautiful. Olivia marvels at how much in love she and Ambrose look. It is obviously not a professional photograph but a candid snapshot in a park. Amelia, probably around four or five years old, is hoisted on her father's shoulders while he and her mother beam at each other.

Momentarily Olivia wonders what might have happened to cause them to fall out of love. She knows all too well how relationships can suddenly fracture beyond repair. Frowning she puts the picture back down. Their time together probably still means a lot to Ambrose or else he wouldn't have chosen to keep a family picture on display. Olivia's heart starts beating a little faster. She gets it. She gets still loving someone even though they left you and hurt you terribly.

She herself still keeps a photograph of Elliot around in her bedroom. The realization is like a catalyst. It tears old wounds open. The mere thought of her ex-partner and the circumstances of his departure feel like salt in a fresh wound.

And then, shifting her focus back onto the happy couple that once was, Olivia feels a pang of jealousy-just for a second. Shaking her head she decides it's ridiculous. For one Claire and Ambrose are no longer married, plus she has no right. She has no intention of changing anything about that, no matter the attraction she feels towards him. Still, at least with Claire, Ambrose had had that closeness Olivia still longs for.

Upon hearing Ambrose's footsteps on the stairs Olivia quickly pivots, almost feeling like he caught her doing something she shouldn't have. His gaze shifts and falls upon the family picture she held in her hands just a few seconds ago, most likely realizing she'd looked at it.

"You want to enjoy this in front of the TV?"

"Uh… sure," she agrees. Ambrose balances two plates with a slice each, as well as the bottle of Chardonnay. "Let me take this," she offers and walks around the dinner table, relieving him of the pizza. They get comfortable on the sofa. Ambrose starts the TV and they take a look at the options, zapping through the channels.

They eventually settle on a movie. The pizza is authentically Italian with a thin crust and sunny tomato sauce. It's delicious. After finishing a second slice Olivia puts her plate down, perfectly content.

"This was a great pizza. Where'd you get it from?"

"It's from this small, cozy Italian place nearby. They only have six or seven tables, I guess they depend on delivery. But everything I've tried is fantastic." When he gets up to take the plates, Olivia takes her own and follows him to the kitchen where he loads the dishwasher.

They both stand in near silence. The sound of the TV is hardly audible from here. Ambrose bows his head for a beat, then shakes it, smiles. His gaze is on her lips, and she chuckles and wipes her thumb across the left corner of her mouth.

"What, do I still have some tomato sauce in my face?"

"No," he assures softly, shaking his head once more.

"Then what?"

"I was just thinking that you look-" He gestures at her, his eyes traveling from her face to her hips and back up. "Dazzling."

Olivia's heartbeat is suddenly pounding in her ears and the flush she feels beneath her skin must be visible, she thinks. The word 'dazzling' dropped from his lips coated in a thick British accent. It's not the first time her stomach has started rumbling with desire upon hearing it.

"You're only saying that because you're drunk," Olivia quips, trying to make sense of it. He's never complimented her so overtly before. Certainly not with an adjective like 'dazzling'.

"Mildly intoxicated," Ambrose corrects sheepishly. "If I was drunk I'd have the courage to say something else."

She wishes she would have brought her glass. Here, in his kitchen, she has nothing. The only thing Olivia can do is look at him. She feels confused, and yet her skin is tingling with whatever it is he's implying.

"Like what?" Her voice doesn't sound normal to her as she croaks the words out despite the lump he's put in her throat. She thinks maybe she shouldn't have asked. Maybe she shouldn't even want to know. There's only one way for this to go, and she thinks it's wrong.

"Like," Ambrose starts, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows audibly. He leans in a little closer, but his proximity feels sizzling, the air around them thick. "How there hasn't been a moment since you came here that I haven't wondered what it would be like to kiss you," he murmurs. His dark eyes are intense and Olivia sees his gaze purposefully land on her lips again, only emphasizing what he just admitted. She stands perfectly still while trying to remember how to breathe, move, or speak because it seems she lost the ability to do any of those. Olivia stares at Ambrose staring at her mouth. Unconsciously she licks her lips as her gaze falls to his. Their gaze flits from eyes to lips for what feels like an impossibly long time, and she wonders if he has any idea how much he's thrown her.

Ambrose gives her a weak smile, and she comes undone. There is a shift in the room. Her heart is thudding uncontrollably in her chest as her own gaze settles on his lips. The wine buzzes through her veins, encouraging her to go for it. Just lean in and…

It feels like Olivia is swaying when she touches her lips to Ambrose's in a chaste kiss, molding her mouth to his, taking a moment to just feel. For a few beats they stand, breathing shallowly through their noses until a flip seems to switch between them. Ambrose's hand sinks into Olivia's hair, pulls her closer as his mouth works over hers, drawing her bottom lip between his.

Suddenly Olivia responds, eager and willing. She moans as the tip of his tongue traces the crevice of her lips, encouraging her to part them for him. Ambrose moves them so her ass bumps against the protruding worktop of the kitchen unit, the muscular ridges of his body keeping her trapped against it like the heat is trapped beneath her skin.

Delicately Ambrose's thumb brushes against her scalp as he draws her closer for a moment and then releases her lips, touching his nose to hers. His breath is labored as she winces quietly in protest, the noise getting lost between them.

Olivia's stomach drops as she inhales shakily, her eyes still closed. "So, how was that?" She sounds husky, voice barely above a whisper, and she can practically feel Ambrose's restraint slip away when he tugs her closer to him and groans.

"You have no idea…," he whispers throatily and leaves it at that. Then he kisses her again, more urgently this time. His mouth presses against hers before he pries her lips apart with his tongue. Her entire body responds with a thirst for him that can't be quenched with his kisses, however addictive his soft lips are. He tastes of Chardonnay and sweet possibilities, a heady combination that makes Olivia's nipples stiffen.

Ambrose's fingers rake through her hair until his hand snakes down to her shoulder. There is no space between them when he pulls her against his chest intimately and thank God, she thinks, because her legs feel like they aren't going to support her for long when his tongue fills her mouth. Her hands move to his arms as she opens up to him and hungrily reciprocates his kiss. It's been so long, and everything about him feels so good, so safe in the moment. More than that it feels exciting. His tongue plunges into her mouth, and her heart hammers as they find a satisfying rhythm. He nudges his hips against her, and she can feel everything about him, his mouth, chest, legs. His crotch.

A shiver shoots down her spine, igniting that fire in the pit of her stomach that easily crawls further down to make a home between her legs.

Olivia hums. Her body does, too.

The only thing she is aware of is Ambrose. His taste, his smell, the heat his body gives off. It's more intoxicating than the wine. When his hand slides down to her hip and around the curve of it to cup the slope of her ass, she moans. It feels like his desire sits beneath his fingertips, bleeds into her flesh. It's a contagious thing.

She's heavily breathing against him, into his mouth, both of her hands holding onto his shoulders as if it could give her the semblance of control. Everything starts spinning and this time she hopes nothing is going to break her fall, not as long as she will fall into him.

Their tongues dance for a moment longer until Ambrose pulls away. His lips sink down onto her neck, audibly nipping at her as he bends her backwards over the counter as far as their position allows. His mouth is hot and wet against the delicate patch of skin below her ear and she moans, encouraging him further.

God, she doesn't want him to stop.

Both his hands are on her hips, sliding down the sides of her thighs and back up before he lifts her onto the counter without warning. A quick shriek escapes her. Ambrose silences her with his mouth, swallowing the sound as he steps into the space between her legs. Once the moment of shock has worn off Olivia giggles heartily through kisses, arms wrapping around Ambrose's neck.

"God, you're perfect," he breathes, pulling her hips against him so her core is flush against his crotch and Jesus fucking Christ, he's hard.

All of a sudden Ambrose's hands are all over her. It's exactly what she needs, even though she didn't know just how much she needed it.

**End Notes: Well, we entered a different kind of territory quick here. What do you guys think is going to happen? Will they? Won't they? Let me know! **

**Also: Please, please stay safe! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes: I know we left off in a rather interesting place so it's about time to answer that 'will they or won't they?' Beta'ed by the amazing Amy (thank you, honey, you are the best) - I also love all the conversations and revelations on the side. I hope everyone is well in these uncertain times. **

**Feedback, as always, is very much appreciated. That being said: ENJOY! **

**...**

It only occurs to her now that she can feel his desire so strongly, that her dress has ridden up on her thighs. More likely than that, Ambrose has pushed the thin material up. However it happened, the realization is going to cost Olivia her mind. Just as Ambrose's touch will, as those big hands smooth up on her leg, almost to where it meets the ample slope of her ass.

He's looking at her, breathing heavily while his touch is light and fluid. Everything about it is new, yet Ambrose feels completely familiar. So familiar, it's uncanny. Swallowing hard, Olivia bites her bottom lip, deciding she wants-needs-more of him. Her hands slide down his muscular arms before she drops them and braces against the countertop, hooking one leg around his hip, nudging his middle against her in silent encouragement.

It crosses her mind that, as friends, they probably shouldn't do this. The thought only lasts as briefly as Ambrose's stifled groan against her lips. With his tongue he eases her lips apart, slow and teasing. Olivia's eyes are rolling back into her head, that's how good it feels as jolts of arousal electrify her. Between her legs that familiar pulsing begins, a sensation she hasn't felt for far too long.

She's got her mouth full of him as his tongue skillfully massages hers. Olivia can hardly remember when she's last been kissed like this, so thoroughly, so passionately. It's damned close to mind-numbing while making every other body part come alive.

_This is Ambrose, goddamnit_, flits through her heady thoughts.

And just like that the alarm bells go off.

_Abort. _

_ABORT. _

This is not a good idea, and she'd rather realize this now than tomorrow morning when it's already too late. It's Friendship 101, isn't it? Don't fuck your friends is as good a piece of advice as 'Don't fuck your co-workers.' The thoughts are as sobering as a cold shower.

"Wait… wait," Liv breathes, pulling back. Ambrose looks at her a little puzzled, just as breathless as she is, it seems. "Let's … we shouldn't," she explains further. For a moment she hates that she's always rational and cautious.

"Why not?"

Of course it's her own head that stops her from getting laid when her body is practically screaming for it. Too mature to fuck a stranger and too reasonable to fuck a friend.

All her resolve crumbles when Ambrose's forehead touches hers. They are nose to nose and his breath on her face is an enticing thing. So are his hands that he moves back. They reach her knees until he lets go of her. Without his touch, Olivia suddenly feels cold and lonely despite Ambrose's physical proximity.

"We're friends," she starts, wondering if he really needs her to point this out. "We don't…"

"What? We don't do this? Kiss? Make out? Fuck?" His breath hits her face with each word.

His lips are so close, there's nothing else she can think of. She's fully absorbed by the desire for his hands on her and his mouth on hers.

"Yeah. That," she breathes.

"We could. If you want." Ambrose's voice is pure gravel and he sounds completely certain.

They could. If she wants.

God. Does she ever.

What to do? What _not_ to do? Olivia attempts to draw in a deep breath but fails. She fails miserably.

She should not reach up and bring her hand to the back of Ambrose's neck, but she does. Delicately, the tightly coiled hair at the base of his skull tickles her fingers and for once, just once she wants to be reckless and not think of possible mistakes and repercussions.

They could. She undeniably wants.

Jesus, this has got to be worth the walk of shame, she decides.

Fuck it.

"Yes." The word tumbles from her mouth.

Ambrose groans quietly, and it pierces Olivia, marrow and bone, in the very best possible way.

There are his hands again, on her dress-clad sides this time, not touching bare skin. "You sure 'bout that?" He sounds throaty in a way she's never heard him before. It does things to her she can't comprehend or put into words.

Olivia nods just barely and swallows. It might be wrong but hell yes, she's never been more sure about anything than she is about… Needing. Him. Now.

"Don't stop," she says, but to make herself clear, she keeps his head in place and tilts her own up enough to capture his lips. The kiss is searing now that the doubt is off the table. She feels too hot and wedged in her dress and only wants it off, praying he's going to make short work of it and soon.

A small groan falls from Olivia's lips when Ambrose devours them and slides his hands upwards, just barely skimming the sides of her breasts. Mouths and bodies collide. She thinks her heart collides with his, too.

Ambrose returns to her lips, prying another moan from her throat as he pushes his obvious desire against her core. Olivia literally can't think straight. Her blood is pumping through her veins like her heart's a goddamn jackhammer and the shift of Ambrose's focus from her mouth to her neck doesn't help. He's kissing and suckling that spot right beneath her earlobe at the juncture of her jaw and she swears her underwear will be soaked long before they get down to business.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Ambrose bends Olivia over backwards again but this time, with her ass firmly planted on top of the kitchen counter, her head hits the cabinet behind her. The loud thud is followed by hissing. "Ouch… shit."

Reaching for the aching spot on her skull she grimaces, then chuckles.

"Shit, sorry. Are you okay?" Briefly Olivia sees Ambrose's eyes cloud with concern for her, but she laughs harder, which helps with the pain.

"Fine," she assures, feeling a bit of a bump. "Guess we can write that off as a funjury." Her upper incisors bite her bottom lip, and Ambrose looks surprised, making her wonder if it's about how uninhibited she is.

It's not the wine. Or maybe it is a little bit, it certainly gave her the courage to kiss him when he brought it up. But she loves to unwind and let go. She loves sex. It's a shame she hasn't had any lately.

Sometimes she wonders if her lovers expect her to be more timid, more shy, almost prudishly so because of her job. A few men she's been with had admitted they were pleasantly surprised by her attitude regarding sex.

Of course she hadn't always been so confident but the older she got, the more she knew what she wanted and that the only way to get it was usually to go for it boldly.

"Maybe we should take this somewhere else, though," she suggests smiling, brushing her thumb across the hairline at the nape of Ambrose's neck.

"Too bad. I really wouldn't have minded making you come on top of my kitchen counter." Ambrose tucks her against him and sets her back on her feet with ease. The words and his sly smile make that tiny bundle of nerves between her legs twitch with the excitement of what sounds like promising sex. The man sure knows how to build anticipation, if her body's obvious reaction is any indicator.

"You sound confident." Her eyes are fixed on his, she only sees his smirk crawl upon his lips from her periphery.

"Shouldn't I?"

Grinning, she leans in closer, casting her eyes downward. "I don't know, but at this rate I'm just going home with zero orgasms and a dent in my skull," Liv teases and looks back up at him through long, mascara-clad lashes. It has the desired effect because that part of him that she's longing for stiffens even more against her hip.

"I guess we should do something about that then, shouldn't we?" He presses against her more firmly for emphasis and sends a rush between her legs. Although she is overeager and more than ready, her nod is controlled.

"We definitely should."

The bedroom's on the second floor. Ambrose leads and with his hand loosely wrapped around hers, Olivia follows.

For a moment she questions if she'd ever felt attracted to Ambrose when they were still young and fresh in college but decides, no, she'd never felt this pull towards him, this kind of desire coursing through her entire body then. This is all new.

Maybe anything beyond friendship had never even occurred to her because Ambrose was taken from day one. Not that it necessarily prevents someone from feeling physically attracted, she has learned first hand that doesn't stop anything. Or, well, she might have been a more decent person at eighteen, who knows.

Ambrose slides the light switch until the room is dimly lit, enough not to cover anything while still easy on the eyes. Before Olivia can take the room in fully, he's on her and kissing her senseless. He's so good with that mouth, she wants to pat herself on the back for throwing caution to the wind for once.

Strong hands are all over her then, stroking, rubbing, kneading. His fingertips are delicious pushing into her skin, and she wants him to leave small indentations to remember this by when it's over. Who knows if it'll be another year until she gets to feel anything close to this sort of touch. With some difficulty she manages to wrestle the sweater off of Ambrose's muscular body. The undershirt is quickly discarded on the floor as well.

Her dress gapes open, allowing the air to brush her back as Ambrose slides the zipper down all the way. Between her legs she's throbbing with sweet anticipation, and he hasn't even touched her there. Liv's head is spinning with desire and lack of oxygen. She needs a moment, needs to take a breath, so she gently pushes at his shoulders and breaks away, panting. The sleeves of her dress have slipped off her shoulders, and the moment she drops her arms, the fabric will slide down her body completely. It might be the last moment Olivia can think straight.

"You got a condom?"

Smiling, he slips his fingers into her hair and nods. "Yeah." Then his facial expression changes. "Somewhere." He blows out a breath and presses his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. "Gimme a minute."

Laughing, she allows him to step away and gets to admire his muscular torso in all its glory. His shoulders are chiseled, his chest bulky. The light reflects golden tones that dance across his skin as he moves and all Olivia can think is that she wants to get underneath him, on top of him… anything really, as long as it guarantees she'll feel him inside her. At the thought her nipples stiffen.

He vanishes in the adjacent bathroom, apparently to search for the desired condoms. She hears cabinets being opened, things getting pushed around and set aside. Biting her lip she looks around. The terrace catches her sight first, then the perfectly made king sized bed with perfectly clean, white linens.

From the other room she can hear Ambrose mutter underneath his breath, although she can't make out the exact words.

"You okay there?" she asks, slightly amused. Although she is definitely no longer active in the one-night stand business, she's always packing, so she isn't worried about him not having protection at hand.

"Yes. Sorry, just… get comfortable. I need another minute."

Slipping out of her shoes, Olivia's feet sink into the plush, beige carpet. Quietly, she slips out of the bedroom and back downstairs. The place is small for a townhouse, probably a two-bedroom, Olivia surmises. Which is still more than enough for one person. Her purse is on the sofa, right where she left it. Homer is snoring loudly, not even taking notice of her presence. Safely tucked into a zipped side pocket Olivia finds two black foil packets. In her belly, desire does a triumphant somersault.

Back upstairs she walks into the room just as Ambrose emerges from the bathroom empty handed, looking, for the lack of a better word, bummed. That is until his eyes fall upon the condoms she's holding up between two fingers.

"Would this help?" Mischief is thickly wrapped around her voice as he steps towards her, grinning like she's holding up the golden ticket that will allow them to enter Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

He's quite breathtaking, standing in front of her in nothing but those blue jeans. His chest and stomach are thinly covered by slightly coiled, trimmed hair. When he's in front of her, he takes the condoms, pulls her in. Her olive complexion melds to his deep bronze.

"Get out of that dress," he hums into her ear and tosses the foil packet onto the bed.

Olivia's throat locks in an instant and swiftly she slides the straps off her shoulders. The blue fabric catches at her hips and she pushes the item further down until it pools around her ankles.

Ambrose watches her, his eyes settling on the black bra cupping her breasts. By the way he licks his lips, she surmises he likes what he sees. The dim lighting certainly works in her favor, too. She can see his bulging crotch as she glances down between them and reaches out to pop that jean button open with an audible plop. The zipper follows and without further ado Ambrose pushes the denims past his hips and off his long legs. He's wearing boxers tighter than what should be legal. Thinking of it, he's apparently packing very well, too.

There's hardly any space between their bodies when Ambrose steps up to her and sinks his hand into her hair but, contrary to her expectations, he doesn't kiss her. Instead he pushes his right hand between her legs slowly but deliberately, watching her face. Olivia's mouth falls open, her head falls back. Her body reacts instantly, trembling as she inhales with quiet staccato sounds of ha-ha-hhaa as his fingertips graze her damp underwear.

It's been way too long indeed, because at this rate she'll explode like a firecracker before he slips them off, she thinks.

He moves them towards the foot of the bed with few steps, teasing her with skill. His thumb grazes her clit and her eyes roll back in her head again as she groans and bucks against his hand slightly.

„Fuck… don't stop," she manages with a tight voice.

„Didn't plan to," comes the curt reply that's drenched in his own arousal.

…

With no recollection of how she got onto the bed or when she lost her underwear Olivia pushes up towards Ambrose as he hums. She's completely electrified as his tongue flicks, then swirls at the right side of her clitoris, just hardly grazing that spot he made her point out for him when he noticed something around that area made her tick. She's damned close, so damned close, and Ambrose seems to enjoy keeping her there despite the sounds of frustration she let out. Her toes curl, and she clutches his shoulder, pushes her throbbing sex harder against his face and goddamn… finally. With his lips wrapped around her clit he sucks hard, and it's just what is going to send her over the edge.

„Yes! Yes… that… keep...uhn…" He groans with her most sensitive part in his mouth and the vibrations are her undoing. Liv's thighs clench around Ambrose's head like a vise as she cries her release into the room, the entire lower part of her body twitching. It's bone weakening fireworks from scalp to toes, and Ambrose doesn't ease up while her hip jerks against him until she finally stills. He releases her with a delicious pop and kisses the insides of her thighs as she tries to get her breathing under control.

„Mmhh… you taste amazing." From how he sounds there's not a doubt in her mind that he means it. For lack of anything to say to that or any ability to speak at all, she just giggles awkwardly, still reeling from the tingling that makes her mind wonderfully blank.

As if to emphasise this, Ambrose leisurely drives his tongue from her entrance up to her clit, making her squirm once more.

His body slides over hers then, only stopping to caress her plump breasts. Moaning, she raises her head to look at him as he flicks his tongue across a perky nipple.

His cock is still tucked beneath his boxers but he's so, so hard against her thigh, anticipation is killing her.

„Take 'em off," she says, her throat dry. She wedges an arm between them and cups his bulging erection, stroking it through the thin material. He groans and looks at her, eyes dark with arousal. „Take 'em off," she whispers again and this time he complies.

With her brains still blown, Olivia sits up, drinking in Ambrose's naked body. As far as penises go, this is a pretty nice specimen. Perfect length and girth from what she can tell. Reaching out, she wraps her hand around it at the base, slides it up slowly and brushes her thumb across the head. Ambrose sucks in a breath. Smiling, she reached for the condoms, rips one off and tears it open.

„May I?"

Ambrose, nodding, shifts so she has enough room to roll it on. Liv does it confidently, looking him deep in the eyes. The moment it's on, she leans in and kisses him. She's not picky when it comes to positions, although she has a couple of favorites, of course. Right now however, she badly wants to be on top. With no hesitation, Olivia straddles Ambrose, sighing when she feels his erection line up against her slippery sex. It sends pangs of selfish need down her spine and between her legs. Raising her hips, she allows him to reach between them and guide himself. Feeling him pushing against her opening, just barely stretching the thin flesh there is mind-boggling. It's one of her favorite things about sex. Closing her eyes she holds her breath as she sinks down and onto him. The way he stretches her feels out of this world and she goes impossibly slow to savor the moment. Her body shows some natural resistance. Olivia raises her hips, eases back up just slightly. Upon opening her eyes she sees Ambrose leaning back, his gaze fixated on where their bodies are connected. His face is more intense than she's ever seen it. He's incredibly handsome, and there's something wholly serene about this image forever etched into her brain.

When he looks at her it's a moment of perfect bliss. She lowers her hips onto him fully. Her lips are parted as she sucks some air into her lungs with a quiet moan attached. She rolls her hips to feel their fit and watches Ambrose's face as he groans appreciatively.

"Come 'ere." One strong arm wraps around her hip as he straightens. Olivia's breasts are flush against his torso as he attaches his lips to hers, nipping the bottom one. With labored breath she starts moving, setting an easy rhythm that shows how perfectly he fits her. Within moments his hand is in her hair again, something he does a lot, something Liv realizes she adores. It almost seems more intimate than having him inside her to the hilt.

They kiss briefly, all urgency from before gone. Forehead to forehead he moves with her, leisurely, undulating movements. Each time she lowers herself onto him he grazes that spot that sends those incredible sensations into the pit of her stomach.

Before long she's moving on top of him in earnest, the rhythm faster and more purposeful. She wants those tiny explosions it shoots into her belly because they're addictive. Ambrose is touching her, guiding her hips with both hands. Her breasts are bouncing with every move. She's clearly out of practice, not showing nearly the endurance she once did. She wants to come but can't create the pace she needs. The muscles in her ass and thighs are screaming for relief and try as she might, she needs a break and slows down, just barely moving.

"Sorry," she breathes. "It's been a while." She's pretty sure a blush is creeping on her face.

"Hm," he just grunts and kisses her. "You're perfect." His hand closes around her breast, feeling the full weight of it. "Want me to take over?"

God yes, she wants that.

"Please," she says and chuckles, feeling awkward. Ambrose holds the condom in place as she climbs off. She feels warm and wobbly from the hip down. This will definitely be a reminder for a day or two. Maybe she's entirely too old to drive it home on top.

Within moments she's stretched out beneath Ambrose, who's kissing his way down her torso, making her squirm. Everything about it feels wonderful, but God, does she want him buried deep inside her.

She hoists her torso and watches as he circles her navel with his tongue, her head rolling back between her shoulders as she grins lopsidedly.

"Stop playing," she manages and laughs because she's incredibly ticklish as he reaches the side of her abdomen.

"Who's playin'?"

Liv braces against the mattress. "I want you inside of me. Now."

He laughs, making her snort with laughter as well as he gives her clitoris a nudge with his nose.

"So impatient..."

She sighs when he uses his mouth again, just slowly teasing. "As much as I appreciate...ahh...the…"

"Mhh… keep going," he encourages with cocky amusement.

She fists the sheet when he dedicates himself to the spot she showed him earlier, clamping her eyes shut. Still sensitive from before, her clit is the easiest target, betraying her words. Replacing his tongue with his thumb he watches her, small circles almost sending her into oblivion. He stops just when she is about to come, rubbing her thigh instead, and she can't believe him.

"Seriously?" This is when he decides to stop? When she looks at him he grins, and she either wants to punch him in the face, or push it right back between her legs. Both options seem equally acceptable.

"Oh wait… now you want me to finish?" He flicks his thumb across her clit, then slides two fingers between her labia to where her wetness pools. "You like this, don't you?" He asks gravelly. "You're drenched." He sounds like he's in awe of it and not only saying it to talk dirty to her. Slowly, he brings his fingers back up, strokes gently. "You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you right now."

He already is, she thinks. He's definitely fucking her mind and her stomach is in a freefall. She grabs his hand, to keep it in place as he attempts to slide it back to her thigh.

"Then fuck me already," she purrs. "Please."

It's like she's watching him come undone then because in an instant he's on top of her and gets adjusted between her legs. "There?"

She helps, shifts her hips a little. "Now," she breathes. And he pushes himself inside of her, all of him at once in a swift stroke as he groans into her neck. It's divine as he holds himself there, pressing impossibly deeper into her. Her entire body tenses for a moment, then shudders from the additional stimulation.

Her muscles grip him as she tightens them, squeezing him in return.

"God yes…," falls from both their mouths.

Eventually he starts moving, setting a purposeful rhythm as he rocks against her. Their pace gets faster and soon they are both panting. He feels amazing but the angle is not quite right, so she reaches between them to stimulate herself. She rubs to the point of frustration, biting her bottom lip but knows she won't get there. Apparently Ambrose picks up on it as he slows down and changes to smaller, more languid moves.

"What do you need?"

He's probably the most attentive lover she's ever had, which is a huge plus right there.

Breathlessly she tells him where the trouble is. "I can't with this angle… maybe just…" She pulls his head down and kisses him. He braces against the bed with both hands and adjusts his position, pushing her legs back and holding them in place on either side of his elbows. He circles his hips and pulls almost all the way out before driving back in and watches as she hastily sucks in air and gets wide eyed. It's just the right spot that makes her brain go all mushy when he hits it.

"Better?" He's looking pleased as he rocks against her once more, eliciting a moan from deep within.

"Faster," she bites out, her voice deep as he's breaking through her body's reserve and coaxes ripples of pleasure from it. Her reaction seems to spur Ambrose on further as he puts more of his weight into each thrust. It's divine when he rolls his hips while he's inside her to the hilt. She groans, her breath getting ragged. Their position doesn't allow for them to kiss but she desperately wants to.

He finds that perfect, gratifying pace and shifts his arms forward, bending her legs even more and she hisses as he hits that spot square in the middle.

„Right there…"

He drives himself inside her with more urgency, his brow knit and his eyes hooded with desire. He finds a steady rhythm, slower but with more pointed, harder strokes that make her cry out. Around him she tightens, her muscles pulling him deeper and somehow it creates the friction she needs. Her climax bleeds into the room as she grabs his biceps, nudging herself against him. Four more hard thrusts, and he follows.

"Fuck," she whispers, breathlessly, squeezing her eyes shut because everything is screaming colour with dots distractingly dancing in her vision. "Holy…fuck," she concludes again, chuckling, putting the back of her hand against her heated forehead as he allows her to stretch out her legs and puts his head onto her chest. Underneath her heart is racing.

A few beats later Ambrose rolls off of her and onto his back, turning his head to look at her. "That was amazing."

She nods, imagining she's grinning at the ceiling like an idiot.

"Phew." The mattress shifts as he sits up and finally Olivia looks at him, finding his face perfectly relaxed. "Just gonna get rid of this," he says, holding on to the condom as he gets up and stalks toward the bathroom. "You need anything?"

She pulls the sheet over her body, not to shield herself from his view but for some warmth now that her body cools down. "Water would be great."

"Water," he nods as he returns and picks up his boxers, putting them back on. "Anything else?"

"Maybe something stronger before I start questioning what just happened." She laughs, feeling a little insane for it all. She just slept with Ambrose. And it was spectacular sex.

He smiles but doesn't comment on what she just said before he leaves. Alone in his bedroom, Olivia bites her lip, still feeling aftershocks that make her feel blissfully content. After a couple of minutes her companion returns, a small bottle of water in one hand, a tumbler of bourbon or whisky in the other. He joins her on the bed and proffers the beverages as she sits up. She takes the water and takes a few healthy sips. He mimics her and nips from the tumbler, gazing at her before holding out the drink to her. Eagerly she accepts it and relishes the warmth that spreads in her belly. He looks at her intently, and she wonders what's on his mind.

"What?" she asks softly, feeling a little self-conscious now.

"Nothing. I was just thinking that you're… breathtakingly beautiful right now."

She lowers her gaze but can't keep from smiling.

"Granted, I think you should drop the sheet but…," he teases and she laughs, rolling her eyes at him before taking another sip. As the bourbon slides down her throat, her fingers uncurl and she slowly and deliberately drops the sheet for his benefit, putting her breasts on full display. Wordlessly, Ambrose takes the glass from her, puts it on the nightstand and scoots closer, his face hovering for a moment before he captures her lips. She tastes the alcohol on him and makes a sound of absolute delight. Within seconds Ambrose deepens the kiss and gently pushes her down on the mattress, groaning against her lips. It's funny that he manages to ignite that fire in her belly so easily when she's hardly recovered from the last orgasm. He's very persuasive, too. "You're addictive."

And just like that, he draws her in again.

...

When she rouses awake, a content smile settles on Olivia's face. She stretches, feeling the delightful stiffness of her muscles that only comes from very good sex. She had sex with Ambrose twice last night, and the second time specifically resulted in an earth-shattering climax she didn't recover from. She must have fallen asleep, completely spent, because the last thing Olivia remembers is being tangled up in Ambrose's embrace with her head spinning.

The realization hits fully and with it her heart starts racing.

She had earth-shattering sex with Ambrose. Suddenly she doesn't dare breathe, wondering if that is going to wake him up. Slowly she turns her head towards the side of the bed he slept in and cracks both eyes open, finding it empty.

Huh.

Lifting her head she takes a look around. Daylight is streaming in because the curtains aren't fully drawn. Olivia drops her head back into the pillow and stares at the ceiling. For a moment she strains her ears, trying to make out any sound but everything's quiet.

She slept with Ambrose. If she remembers correctly, she told him to fuck her at least twice, which is going to make it a lot harder to look at him and not wish for the ground to swallow her whole. One thing is for sure, she needs to make it out of here fast.

Allowing herself a few more moments of quiet, Olivia closes her eyes, but the more memories resurface, the less confident she feels about facing him.

When she gets up, she sees her clothes folded at the foot of the bed, a note on top.

_Making breakfast, hope you're hungry. Feel free to shower. A. _

So much for her masterplan to get the hell out of here. Ambrose really wants to have breakfast? Would it be poor manners if she declined and just left, making an excuse about needing to get to work? Maybe it's his way of trying to make things less awkward. Sighing, she decides to think about it while she gets ready. In the bathroom Ambrose left a towel and a spare toothbrush.

Olivia takes a shower and tries to make herself look somewhat presentable with what little tools she has. With no make-up or hair styling products, she has no choice but to go au naturel. Twenty minutes after waking up, she walks down the stairs with her heels in her hand, finding her friend in the kitchen in jeans and a mustard-colored sweatshirt. He must sense her presence immediately because he turns around before she's even in the room.

„Good morning," he smiles easily. Apparently he's not the least bit affected by what transpired last night. Not even standing there at the counter where it all started. The very same counter he'd said he wouldn't have minded making her come on. At the thought there's a sudden, hot rush between Olivia's legs and she swallows hard, remembering that she's probably expected to say something in return.

„Hey," she says back. „You should've woken me up." Trying to have a normal conversation is the way to go. Even with images of the heavy make-out session in this very kitchen popping up in her head.

„I actually haven't been up for that long either, and you looked too comfortable there." The kitchen smells of freshly brewed coffee and, before Olivia can change her mind about staying, Ambrose pours her a cup and offers it to her.

„Thanks." She accepts the steaming beverage but stands in the doorway, feeling a little lost.

„I whipped up some pancake batter. Care to join me for breakfast?" Ambrose asks hopefully and gestures at the round table that's set for two. There's orange juice, maple syrup and blueberries that make breakfast a hard thing to resist. She is super hungry after last night's activities. „Only if you're up for it. You're not obliged to stay," he adds quickly.

This, she thinks, is exactly why protocol concerning sex with a total stranger is easier to follow. They don't expect you to stay for breakfast or make conversation for that matter. At the most it's a kiss on the cheek and a less than heartfelt 'take care' on the way out the door.

But maybe it would make things more awkward if she just left, she thinks. It's not like she can just go on her way and never think of Ambrose again. They are friends, and she wants it to stay that way, so she can only ignore the elephant in the room for so long.

„Yes, sure. Why not." She sets her shoes down by the door, prefering to walk around barefoot. It's peculiar enough that she's wearing a somewhat formal dress for the occasion, high heels will only add to that. She slides into the little nook in the corner, quietly sipping the coffee, finding it strong and reviving. While Ambrose finishes making the pancakes, Olivia excuses herself to check her phone. No messages, no calls. Once more it occurs to her how empty her personal life is. It's hard to tell if last night's decisions compensate for the fact or make it even worse. Potentially she fractured her friendship to Ambrose by sleeping with him. There's something deeply unsettling when she imagines losing what they've built in the past couple of months. She's enjoying her time with him. Sometimes she feels so much lighter, almost like she's a different person around him. Hopefully they didn't wreck that.

By the time Liv returns Ambrose puts a perfect small stack of three pancakes on the table for each of them and encourages her to sit and dig in. For a few moments they eat in complete silence. Olivia can feel his gaze on her and the air in the kitchen is thick with everything that's not being said. He speaks up when she puts another forkful of food in her mouth.

"Is everything alright?" She chews a little more quickly, looking at him, and now he looks more insecure than before. Swallowing she nods.

"Yeah. Fine." Which obviously it's not. This is not normal for them. She can keep her mouth shut, or she can be honest. "Well, actually… I… it's a little awkward, don't you think?"

Ambrose puts his fork and knife down and folds his hands, cocking his head. "Obviously it is for you, but I don't think it has to be. We both know what this was. We are two adults who got carried away and had some fun. If you ask me there's no reason this should change anything between us. Friends can make the transition to lovers and back. And if you ask me? It was pretty amazing."

Worrying her lip, Olivia thinks about his words. She never had a physical relationship with a friend. With Brian it was different, they met again and hit it off, but they weren't friends. They never would be, not like her and Ambrose. At the end of the day they were total opposites with nothing in common. She has to agree with one thing, though. It was amazing. At the thought she can't help but smile despite the blush that creeps onto her cheeks.

"It was."

"If you'd rather we just forget about it, that's alright with me. Would be a real shame, though. And just for the record? I really wouldn't mind if it happened again." He smiles like sunshine now and sips from his juice. It's infectious, and so Olivia can't keep a straight face, either.

The memories will make for good fantasies in those lonely nights to come, but apart from that this seems complicated enough as it is.

„I'm flattered. Really," she assures. „But I think it's probably better if we don't let it happen again. I don't want this to get in the way of our friendship. My head's screwing with me already, I don't think I can handle this more than once. But I will remember it fondly." Another bite and she adds. „You really don't think it's awkward at all?"

„Why would it be? Just because I saw you naked?" It's a tease, and Olivia shakes her head at him with a slight eye roll. „I see it like this: we're friends. And last night, after the first round? We talked for an hour. We laughed. You don't get that kind of connection with a stranger. So if you were some woman I picked up at a bar? That's what I'd feel awkward about in the morning. I sure wouldn't want to have breakfast with her. With you, though? This is nice, Liv. You and me here. Even after last night." He pauses, then corrects himself. „Especially after last night."

When he says it like this, it really doesn't sound like they've screwed it up. Ambrose seems to have a very relaxed approach concerning the recent benefits of their friendship.

„Have you done this before? Slept with a friend?"

„Not exactly. I had a thing with someone I used to associate with through work, and we became friends through it. I've realized that I need a basic level of trust and intimacy, someone I can connect with, even if it's casual sex, if that makes sense."

„It does. It makes perfect sense. I didn't know you thought about it like that. If I had, I would have been a little less freaked out about facing you earlier," Liv admits.

„You were pretty tense when you came downstairs," he agrees. „Why though? It's just me."

„I don't know. Normally, after a one-night stand, I make sure to get the hell out of there. But apart from that… at the most the guy would know my first name, I'd never see him again, I wouldn't care what they thought of… what I did, what I said, what I asked for…"

„Wait… are you embarrassed?"

Guilty as charged, she thinks. „Maybe a little?"

„But why? There's nothing at all you'd need to feel that way about."

„I think it's because of the nature of our friendship. I don't want you to define me by what happened, what I asked for in a moment of…" She wants to say weakness but it doesn't live up to all that last night was.

„Passion?" Ambrose offers and she nods once, liking that better. "I'm not defining you or our friendship by a single thing that transpired last night. I'm not that shallow. But either way, you shouldn't ever be embarrassed about any of it. It was incredibly sexy to me that you knew what you wanted and needed. It was a real joy to make you come - and I mean that respectfully, not to be cocky."

It's surreal that they have this conversation at the breakfast table while stuffing their faces with pancakes. She glances at her food, not sure what to say to that, the confidence of last night lost in broad daylight.

„I'm gonna shut up, I don't wanna make you any more uncomfortable."

She feels a little bit stupid for making this a bigger deal than it was to Ambrose. He was completely fine with their friendship pre and post sex. Sometimes she just needs to take it easy and not worry when she can't be sure it's worth worrying about. Any awkwardness there was, she'd created herself.

„Ambrose?" She has his full attention and casts a small smile at him. „Thank you for saying that. It makes me feel better about it."

„That's good to hear."

„Oh, and just to put it out there? You were… fantastic doesn't begin to cover it. I don't regret it. You actually saved my entire year."

„Hey, anytime," he grins. „As I said… I'm very much open to saving whatever needs saving."

Popping the last piece of pancakes in her mouth, Olivia chews. „We'll see," she says easily, thinking maybe the situation will arise again one day. For now she's tired of dating, but she isn't eager to go without sex for another year. And since she's made it a personal rule not to pick up strangers... „Are you going to finish that?" Olivia points her fork at what's left of his breakfast.

„All yours if you want it."

„Thank God. I'm starving." He pushes his plate across the table and Olivia drowns the pancakes in syrup, seeing Ambrose watching closely. By the way he's looking at her she can't tell if he's impressed or grossed out. Probably the latter, since he kept them plain with just a handful of blueberries on the side. She doesn't understand people. If you go for such a treat for breakfast, you might also go unhealthy all the way. "What?" She asks when he shakes his head slightly, smiling.

"Nothing."

Shrugging, Olivia cuts a perfect little triangle off the stack, running it through the maple syrup to make sure the fluffy pancakes are soaked through from all sides. When she bites down it's a sweet and sticky explosion in her mouth that's deeply satisfying.

After talking and agreeing nothing has changed between them, being here with Ambrose, sharing a lovely breakfast isn't all that bad. Not bad at all. In fact it's still comfortable with him, eating, talking. And those pancakes… Well, they are almost as delicious as last night's sex.

…


	12. Chapter 12

**It's been a while, but let's continue on where we left off, eh? I hope you guys are all well. As always I have to thank the most wonderful Beta. Feedback is always welcome. Touches on the episode Wednesday's Child - since we know it was a life changer for Olivia. **

**...**

It's just after noon when Olivia is back at the precinct despite her day off. There's the possibility she chose the first day of the new year because subconsciously she knew there was no way for her to spend it away from work. New Year's Eve comes with many parties, alcohol included, across the city. It typically translates to the higher assault rates that would dominate the squad's entire week. So that would be her day. Not that she had any real plans to begin with.

Although Olivia has a long week before her, the slight stiffness in her muscles and the memories that come with it, put a faint smile on her face. Whenever she closes her eyes and allows herself to be still and in the moment, it's like she can still feel Ambrose. There's a small bruise at the side of her left hip she noticed as she dressed for work. He left his mark on her and even now, standing in the busy bullpen of the 1-6, excitement makes her skin tingle.

„Hey Liv, happy new year," Rollins greets her as she makes her way across the room. „Sorry we had to call you in after all."

„That's okay. Fill me in on what we got since last night?"

„Several complaints and arrests for assault, one DV, neighbors called it in after midnight. Wife's in the hospital but refuses to incriminate her husband, says they fought but she tripped and fell down the stairs." They walk towards Liv's office slowly.

„Of course she did," Olivia says, unimpressed. They've heard it all before, every excuse in the book for bruises, cuts and fractures. „What does the husband say?"

„Except his wife's clumsy, nothing. Neighbors called the police seven times before, she always said she was fine and refused medical help. He's still in custody but…," Rollins shrugs, both of them knowing they won't be able to hold him if the woman stays silent.

„Okay. What else?"

Inside Olivia's office, Rollins touches on a typical he said - she said after a party at Hudson and two rapes between 4 and 6 am with both victims still at the hospital for a rape kit. It's midday and from experience these calls will keep coming in for the rest of the day.

Four hours later they meet in front of the board, talking cases. While most of the reported assaults from last night were witnessed by many people, the rapes left them without leads and their DV case was going nowhere.

"Carisi, what about Mrs. Miller?"

"She admitted she didn't fall down the stairs after I confronted her with the extent of her injuries but she didn't specifically say it was the husband, either."

„All right. Cut him loose then."

„Sarge…"

„There's nothing we can do, Carisi. We haven't witnessed anything. As long as she won't come forward, our hands are tied."

„She's probably terrified of what he's going to do when she talks to us," Carisi insists, eyes boring into those of his CO before they turn compassionate. „He did a number on her and not for the first time. She's allowed a moment of hesitation."

Olivia licks her lips for a moment, leans back against the edge of the table and nods once, her impassive face softening. „Talk to her again, make sure she knows we can help her."

„Yes, Sarge," Carisi nods.

From her periphery, Olivia sees Amanda return to her side after a phone call. "Remember Lewis? The guy that flashed tourists in the park?"

"Burnt off his fingertips guy?" Fin asks incredulously.

"That's the one. He was arrested in Jersey this afternoon after raping and torturing two young women for three days straight."

"God," Olivia breathes out, taking a moment to process. Something had been seriously wrong with the guy. Even with fifteen years of experience William Lewis had given her the creeps, although she couldn't quite put her finger on why his attitude was so unsettling. "Are they alive?"

"Just barely. They probably wouldn't have had a fighting chance if the owners of the house he chose didn't return from their Christmas holiday early."

"Sounds to me we dodged one helluva bullet there," shrugs Fin.

"Can't disagree with that," Amaro nods once, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Olivia can't help but think that whatever Lewis has done to those women is no way to start the year. How different their realities must have been last night. While they were most likely feeling dead inside, Olivia hadn't felt so alive in a long time. Ambrose's hands and mouth had revived her and given. At the memory a pleasant shudder ripples through her.

"I'd rather we had something on him then and not let him go and get away with it," Rollins adds contritely. Olivia gets it. It was Amanda who had called the lot of them in on a Sunday, after sensing that something was wrong with the guy. Instead of taking her word for it, everyone, Cragen included, hadn't taken Rollins quite seriously, an air of disbelief, in Olivia's case even annoyance, surrounding the squad. That was until she sat down with Nick to interview the guy. Thirty seconds in there were several red flags and that feeling Rollins had about the guy? Olivia had had it, too. It was a needed reminder to take those hunches seriously, no matter how dubious they might seem.

"We gave it our best effort, Rollins. It's Jersey's turn now. You should head out, it's been one hell of a day for you."

"I'm good." The blonde detective shakes her head with vehemence.

"That wasn't a suggestion, Rollins. Go, get some rest. I'll see you fresh in the morning. I'll talk to your witness." It's obvious Amanda is on the brink of arguing with the order but eventually she stalks off towards her desk wordlessly and grabs her coat and purse.

"I'll go with and drop her off, I have to go to the hospital anyway," Carisi excuses himself and hastily follows the blonde to the elevator.

"Well, that leaves three of us. Who's responsible for dinner?"

"I'll go," Fin offers, which leaves Nick to take the witness statement with her. "Chinese cool with everyone?"

"At this point anything'll do," Olivia pushes herself off the table. "Let's get this done and hope we'll get out of here at all."

…

She's stirring two sugars into her coffee although she usually doesn't touch it unless it's black. In desperate need of energy and enough caffeine to keep her awake and going for at least another hour she breaks with habit. It's past ten and she'd fully intended to leave before eight. Unfortunately they'd gotten a call about a rape victim that unis brought in shortly after. Now, after taking the statement, she might as well finish up the paperwork.

"There more where that came from?"

Turning halfway towards the source of the question, Olivia smiles wearily. "As long as you don't mind that it's cold, yes."

"You not heading out yet?"

"You aren't either," she gives back, picking up her cup and making space for him before leaning back against the lip of the counter.

"Paperwork," he shrugs.

"Same," Olivia tells Fin, eyes casting downward. It's been a while since it was just the two of them and since the day of the dinner party and her conversation with Ambrose about race she had wanted a chance to say something. She didn't go out of her way to make that talk happen and so weeks have passed and she procrastinated. Now it seems the time has come. There's no one else around, it's just her and Fin. He goes for the cupboard and grabs a mug before pouring some of the black brew into it. Her hands turn sweaty and she takes a sip of coffee when her heartbeat escalates into a racing rhythm that she thinks can't be healthy.

"Hey Fin?" Her gaze is jumpy as past mistakes haunt her. He merely looks at her in acknowledgement, waiting for her to speak. "I… It's just that… I realized there were times when I've said some inconsiderate and racist things and I wasn't even aware of it," she pauses briefly, looking apologetically at him, seeing how he's seemingly confused. She takes a breath that's heavier than normal. "I am sorry about that and I'm trying to do better."

She hadn't just had the conversation with Ambrose and moved on like it didn't happen. She'd purchased a book, she did online research in the evenings, trying to educate herself and become more aware of her own, silent prejudice against people of color and her privileges as a white person. She curses her blindness, curses that even now, getting more informed, there are things she doesn't fully understand. But maybe that's the point, that she'll never fully understand what Ambrose and Fin encounter on a daily basis. She and all other white folks are lucky like that.

Fin is quiet and she wonders if he lets the apology sink in, or if there's just nothing to say. After a brief moment of silence he takes one step closer. "We're good Liv."

"I mean it, though."

"I appreciate it. But like I said, we're good. I don't want ya to worry 'bout it."

His demeanor is as cool as ever, like none of it matters. Like she hasn't shot microaggressions at him and other members of the Black community like daggers or failed to tell Elliot to shut it when he was problematic or downright awful for years. She's failed to draw the line more times than she can count now and yet he's telling her exactly what she needs to hear to eventually find peace with it.

"This about your boyfriend?" Fin's nonchalance is not an act and so she's not the least bit defensive with the tone of her answer.

"We're just friends, but yes," she says around a sip from her cup.

"It's good to have someone. A friend. He seems to do ya good, Liv."

Although it's most likely an innocent comment, Olivia almost spits out her coffee, coughing around a small mouthful. He did her good, indeed, but that's a lot more than anybody needs to know.

"You okay?"

"Fine," she manages, the back of her hand to her mouth.

"Not exactly subtle, girl. Also? It's not like it isn't written all over your face when you got some."

From wide-eyed she goes closed-eyed, wishing Fin hadn't said that. Or for the ground to swallow her hole. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment, wondering if she's really that obvious.

"No shame in that," Fin winks when she gathers enough courage and looks at him.

"I'm going to take this coffee, go to my office and pretend this string of conversation never happened."

Chuckling, Fin walks after her. "Sounds about right."

"Didn't happen," Olivia singsongs, headed for the safety of her office.

…

"My bed sheets smell like you. It's very-," There is a brief pause from the other end of the line. "distracting."

What's distracting is what the low rumble of his voice does to her. Olivia clamps her thighs at the instant jolts of arousal that flash through her. It's been over two weeks, so she's not sure her scent still lingers in his bedroom like her memories do. One thing is for sure, she's thinking about it way too much when she's in the office. It's probably her favorite escape whenever she takes a short break from mountains of paperwork.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she smiles widely, then bites her lip. She could shut this down but instead her voice comes out like sweet, sticky honey. "They do?"

There's no harm in flirting, Liv decides. Not when it's almost 8:30 at night and there's still two files she needs to work through. She would have loved to take Ambrose up on the offer to meet for dinner so, for tonight, this is her silver lining.

"Hmm," he almost grunts, and it's sexy. "What is it? Something flowery," he states matter-of-factly.

Well, apparently it does still linger. She pictures him in his bed, in those offwhite sheets, breathing her in. It can't be her shampoo, it's too subtle. And she put on an extra splash of perfume before she arrived at his house that night. She swallows and answers breathily.

"Lotus rose and white flowers." She closes her eyes and thinks it's oddly fitting when she imagines them twisted in his white bed sheets. It's for the best that she can't take him up on the dinner invitation. Right now paperwork is the only thing that's keeping her out of his bed. At the realization she closes the folder on her lap and pours another small glass of Cabernet. Clearing her throat, she attempts to take her mind of all the things they could do if she allowed it. "What are you up to anyway?"

"Not much. I was hoping for dinner but…"

"You can still have dinner. I wholly encourage you eating."

"Yes, but I meant with you."

"I wish I could. How about breakfast, though? Tomorrow morning." Which is safe because she will have to be at work with no time for detours concerning clandestine meetings that will make his bed smell like her.

"I'd like that."

"Great. I know a great place, it's close to my place, if that's okay? I only have until 8:30, though."

"I'll pick you up at 6:30?" Smiling, she picks up her glass and takes a sip.

"Probably make it 6:15." She already knows what perfume she'll put on, not to tease him, but because from now on she will always associate the scent with Ambrose. She'll be enveloped in a breeze of L'eau d'Issey just for him.

They say their goodbyes a few minutes later with hushed voices. Grinning, Olivia hangs up and holds the phone to her chest, taking a slow, deep breath. She has a feeling tomorrow is going to be a good day. At the very least, it'll be a great morning.

...

It's been a god-awful day. She and Ambrose had only just sat down and ordered breakfast when Nick called to inform her they caught a case, a missing seven year old boy. Underneath her breath she'd cursed and assured Nick she'd be there as soon as she could, although he insisted they could handle it. Thing is, this is now her unit, which makes the cases her responsibility.

She'd apologized to Ambrose and was out the door no two minutes later, promising she'd make it up to him. By late afternoon they had a missing kid with diabetes and developmental problems on their hands who they found out was discarded by his mother without a second thought, given to someone she didn't know.

With his insulin lasting for only three days, Olivia quickly realized this was a race against the clock in more ways than one.

Just getting the mother to talk cost them an entire day. She had given her kid to some woman, basically a child broker, and what infuriated her the most was that by Connecticut law, she hadn't even done something illegal.

Olivia would never pretend to know what it's like to be a mother, especially to a kid with attachment issues, but she sure as hell wouldn't just get rid of a child someone entrusted to her, a little child she was meant to love, protect and fight for. She should have asked for help. Instead this woman had given her adopted son away with no idea where he'd go, what would happen to him, if he'd be safe.

By the end of the second day they're trying to track down the couple that has the boy. Despite the urgency they all took the night off. Their suspects have fled the scene and all that has been left behind is one DVD showing Nicky and two girls.

Although Olivia is tired, she goes through everything they have on Roger and Alexa again. Her eyes burn with fatigue and exhaustion, the letters blurring in front of her. When the intercom announces a visitor, Olivia is convinced it's either Amanda or Nick, even though normally they called. Maybe they found something that could help them, or maybe they just need some company in the middle of this case.

With the file she studies still in her hands she buzzes the visitor in. It can't be much later than eight, eight-thirty, she thinks. It isn't Nick or Amanda, though. Instead Ambrose smiles innocently at her, holding up a plastic container, black on the bottom, clear on top. He brings an icy chill with him that crawls across her skin, almost making her shudder.

"Hey," Olivia says surprised to see him. She had dropped him a text on her way home, which is how he knows she's not at work. "You brought sushi." She is flabbergasted as he holds the box with a rather big selection of Maki and Nigiri out to her a little more, like he's about to give her a present.

"I hope that's okay. I figured you must be hungry when you mentioned how swamped you are with that case."

She is hungry. Very. Her plan was to go through her freezer later and see if she could find something appealing there.

"Yeah. Of course. Sorry, I wasn't… come on in." Ambrose enters and Olivia quickly gathers the papers and photographs on the coffee table, saying it's confidential. "Sorry for the mess, I'm still working. Kind of."

"That's okay. I was just going to drop this off here, anyway. I don't want to intrude."

"No. No, you aren't. It's good to see you, actually." A small smile makes the corners of her mouth lift. "It's not like I can finish this box on my own and raw fish doesn't keep well so…" she smiles and slides her paperwork into the folder before putting it in her bag.

"How are things coming along? You mentioned it's a missing kid, is it the boy that's all over the news?"

"Yeah," she breathes out, watching him take off his winter coat.

"It's unbelievable. It was the mother?"

That much is public information by now, it's all over the news. "It was," Olivia says thoughtfully. "But I can't talk about the case."

"Of course not."

"Fork or chopsticks?"

"Chopsticks," Ambrose answers and puts the box of sushi on the breakfast bar. When Liv slides onto one of the stools he takes the lid off.

"This looks good." He takes a pair of chopsticks as Liv tears open the small bags of wasabi and soy sauce, putting the contents in two small plastic containers. "I'm so sorry about breakfast. I wish I could have stayed."

Ambrose waves his hand dismissively as she picks up a maki roll, and dips in the soy sauce. "Don't worry about it. We'll do it some other time."

"Did you stay?" They had ordered already after all and she figures it was too late for him to cancel. She herself hadn't even thought of that before she rushed out.

"Yeah, I had breakfast and took your scrambled eggs home for Homer. He really appreciated the bacon in particular."

She can imagine the black and white dog with his big, tubby eyes and those few crooked front teeth he has left. Smiling at the mental image she pops the roll in her mouth and chews, making a wholesome sound. "Mmhhmm." Her stomach growls, encouraging her to take one more piece when she hasn't even swallowed the first. "So that's how I win him over? Cuddles and bacon?"

"Cuddles and anything that passes as edible," Ambrose agrees. "Although he gets more picky. Amelia spoils him way too much whenever she's over. He refuses his dry food whenever I get back from London."

"So, does she stay at your place when you're gone then? For the dog?"

"Sometimes," he nods, making sure there's a small blob of wasabi on his sushi. "Sometimes she takes him to her place."

"She doesn't live on campus then?"

"She shares an apartment with two fellow students not too far from campus. The dorms weren't for her."

„Interesting," Olivia says around a small mouthful and couldn't help reminiscing. „I loved college. I mean, all the great things happened on campus." Then she had just wanted to get away from her mother. Even her very first rat hole of an apartment that smelled like cat piss and mold was more appealing than going anywhere near home. It wasn't until Olivia was in her late twenties that she and Serena got along better.

„You don't have to tell me. She's still part of the crowd, goes to the parties and all that. But I guess she loves that freedom to just bring in a stray cat or actually choose who she wants to live with. I have no idea." It makes her laugh and in return he chuckles lightly.

„She gets the best of both worlds."

"I guess she does," Ambrose nods. "She's enjoying her personal liberties, always swimming against the stream."

"Sounds like she's a strong woman."

"Oh, yes. Very. And I'm proud of that for the most part, but it can be quite exhausting to see her rebel against everything and anything that's considered a conventional social or economical construct." It piques Olivia's interest and she sits up a little straighter, looking at Ambrose.

"So she defends what she believes in. That sounds great."

"It is. Don't get me wrong, it is great. She's a feminist, a humanist, and as a man I am trying not get offended when she talks about how toxic patriarchy is and that I'm part of the problem but… ouch." His face twists up wryly, causing Olivia to snort and shake her head.

"I am trying to understand, and I know she's right about most of it," he shrugs, then pauses. "Probably all of it, but no matter what I say, she tells me it's either besides the point or she gets annoyed by what she calls my 'whataboutism'." Olivia doesn't get the vibe that Ambrose is a chauvinistic man, shaped by a sense of superiority towards women, so hearing him talk about his daughter's strong feminism is amusing. "So at this point I'm listening closely and stop to think before I say anything. Which I think pleases her." Ambrose bobs his head from side to side.

"So, you tell her what she wants to hear and everybody's happy?" Olivia teases, grinning at her friend.

"Oh, hell no. I am actually thinking about it, which is why I said she's probably right about all of it. But, well, from my perspective some of it is hard. I don't know what it's like to be a woman so I'm destined to say the wrong thing from time to time. Or I don't have an opinion. Just last week she started talking about menstrual equity and I was like 'whoa'." He held his hands up as if Olivia pointed a gun at him. The debates about tampon tax and equal access to hygiene products isn't news to her but she can see how periods becoming political could unsettle men. There are many walls that need to be torn down before discussion of periods won't make men-and some women alike-uncomfortable. There still is a stigma that comes with the female cycle. "I mean, I'm all open minded but..."

"It's interesting though, isn't it? That it's not something most people feel can be openly discussed, no matter how progressive we think we are." Frowning, she thinks about how she handles it herself. For the most part she avoids mentioning her periods to her boyfriends altogether, except the occasional 'I can't' accompanied by a glance towards her private parts which said it all. She, and most people of her generation simply grew up believing it's a women's business, and something that you don't talk about if you can help it, like it's something dirty or awful instead of the most natural thing in the world and a sign of reproductive health.

"Amelia always reasons that the most uncomfortable conversations are the ones that need to be had the loudest and I get that, she's right about that but she is my daughter and it is something I don't feel confident about in a conversation with her or… women in particular. Not that I'd discuss it with men, either. Which is where I'm running in circles. It's great she wants to change the world but sometimes it feels like she thinks all men are awful, me included. Kind of hard not to take it personal, you know?"

"I can imagine. But maybe you need to shift your focus and not see how she seemingly criticizes you instead of the patriarchy. She's challenging you to think about the world women live in. And she trusts you to give you the chance to change perspective, look more closely and analyze those behavioral patterns. It'll help you grow." It definitely helps her grow, she thinks. Amelia is either an incredibly smart and interesting person, or annoying beyond belief. Something leads her to think it's the former.

With Ambrose even these tricky conversations come somewhat easy. It's a back and forth of honesty and vulnerability they entrust each other with. It's been a long time she's last had that with someone. Over dinner it almost feels like a casual conversation about the weather or how their day has gone. The sushi is quickly devoured between the two of them, leaving her with nothing to clean up.

"Thank you. I had no idea how hungry I was until you showed up with this." She pours wine for them, simply assuming Ambrose would like some, and slides a glass towards him.

"You're welcome." He scrutinizes the drink for a moment, then his dark brown eyes find hers. "Are you sure I'm not keeping you from more important matters?"

"Positive," she smiles, albeit wearily. "I'm actually glad that you take my mind off of work for a bit. Going over everything again and again isn't going to magically crack the case." They are going to start over fresh early in the morning, until then she might as well enjoy some company. If Ambrose hadn't come over Olivia would have stuck her nose into that case file for another hour two while getting a bite of food at the same time, flushing it down with some Cabernet. Most likely it would have turned cold long before she finished it because from time to time she'd get too focused on a thought or a detail in the files. By the time she would have called it a night it would've been way too late. Sometimes she can't even be bothered to brush her teeth before she collapses into bed, especially since she's been heading Special Victims.

The pressure that comes with being in command of the squad and being the one who has to answer to the Chief about every little aspect of the unit is massive. It doesn't feel like she's made that transition yet, and compared to Cragen, her work feels inadequate.

There are times she'd pay Ambrose to distract her from the job. Tonight she needed this more than he knows.

It reminds her of when they were much younger, really only kids, trying to figure out life in college. Ambrose would make for a wonderful distraction from papers that needed to be written. Sometimes, when they got too close to a deadline, she'd wanted to throttle him for showing up at her dorm room with a movie, a six-pack of beer and fast food from the cheapest place near campus. At one specific memory a faint smile settles on her face.

_Knock-knock. _

_It was past 10:30 pm when she heard the all too familiar rapping of Ambrose's knuckles against her door. It wasn't a hard thing to figure out who it was, either. At this time, with no plans to get together it was always Ambrose. Frustratedly, Olivia let her face drop onto the open psychology book on the desk, no further with her thesis paper than she had been hours ago. She was so annoyed, she was about to bite her arm, hard. Or at least throw that goddamn Copy of "Identity And The Life Cycle" across the room. Three more days. She'd fail at this paper. She knew she would. Knowing Ambrose he has probably already worked on those finishing touches on his paper that he talked about the day before yesterday. She suspected writing about the influences of psychosocial development comes easier when you didn't have a history of being the child of a rapist and a mother that subsequently became a loveless alcoholic. Although true, Olivia recognizes that the thought is one-quarter desperation and three-quarters bitterness. It must have been jinxed, as soon as she got down to the nitty-gritty of proving her thesis, she shut down mentally and couldn't manage to put together a single cohesive sentence, leave alone a full paragraph. With at least five more pages before her and less than three whole days left, this one was going to be a disaster. _

_This subject would be a piece of cake for Ambrose, who picked Psychology as a major. For her it was a minor, for obvious reasons. One of said reasons was their Professor, Henderson Abanathy. Professor Abanathy hated Olivia, or at the very least, he liked most of her fellow students better. He always prompted her to answer a question, seemingly whenever she had no idea what it was, although there were handfuls of eager students that had their hands up to the ceiling of the auditorium. It wasn't hard to imagine that the old mule would love to see her blow this. _

_Either way, since Olivia doubted she'd get anything more on paper, she figured she might as well open the door. The work would keep, so she made her way over. Ambrose slouched against the doorframe, dressed casually in jeans and an old, faded t-shirt, his rickety skateboard under his arm. She marveled that it didn't come apart by the look of it. The board had a long crack in the wood. She for one, would not set a foot on it. _

_Obviously she was as miserable a sight as she felt because Ambrose's bright and normally infectious smile froze as he pushed his lean body off the wooden doorframe. "Hey Giggles, what's the matter?" He walked past her, as comfortable around her dorm room as if it were his own. _

"_Ah, nothing, except I'm planning my funeral. Me? Officially dead," she said with a long face, kicking the door closed with her heel as Ambrose's eyes settled on the cluttered desk. _

"_Still that little hangup with Abanathy's thesis paper?" _

_Well, if he wants to call it that, alright, she thought. It was more like the greatest intellectual blackout of all time, if he asked her. _

"_I'm dead, Ambrose," she says fully convinced. "I have at least six pages left to write and I'm not… I'm not writing," she says desperately. _

"_What's the matter then?" This wasn't her. She was a good student, a driven student, just like Ambrose. She did not blank on essays and papers ever. Except this time. She feared there was no way out. _

"_I don't know." She stretched her arms out to emphasize this, although she did know. It hit too close to home. She dove too deep and now there was no neutral way to handle it. She'd started out a twenty-one year old student and was now an accumulation of Erikson's what-ifs. _

_He put the old skateboard against her wall, something her roommate Cynthia wouldn't let her hear the end of if she was here - but then Cynthia complained about everything, which was the reason she hardly spent any time in their dorm room. Instead of dropping down onto her twin bed Ambrose made his way to the desk, hovering over the work she had done so far. "Can I read it?" _

_Olivia shrugged. It wasn't like his opinion could do any more harm than she was doing on herself. "Go ahead." _

_With her arms wrapped around herself, Olivia watched, only hearing the rustle of paper whenever he turned a page. After what seemed like an eternity, Ambrose looked up at her. "It's good. Really." _

"_It's unfinished," she pointed out, unable to accept the compliment._

"_Can I make a suggestion?" _

"_Like, burn it?" She looked at him, her face crooked. It may have seemed hammy but she was dead serious. This time she had no confidence in her work. _

"_Minimize. You can change your thesis to…" He started and lined out a structure that allowed her to keep most of what she had already written but focus on harmful circumstances for infants or children in terms of identity development. It was like he caught fire and ignited the entire room when he hit the different books on her table, scribbling notes on post-its and drawing arrows to make connections. Soon enough Olivia made some suggestions that Ambrose let through on the nod. With her scribbling pad and one of the books she sat down on the floor, taking notes and marking citations. Before she knew it, the sun came up and she tossed her ballpoint pen onto the table and leaned back in her chair. _

"_Done," she announced to the sleeping figure on her bed, smiling at the sight of her best friend. His feet were crossed, head resting on his left, bent arm. Ambrose didn't even stir. He must have fallen asleep an hour or two ago, Olivia couldn't tell, she had been too immersed in her paper. She wasn't one hundred percent positive that everything was in perfect order, but right now she didn't care about the devil in the detail. She'd finished. With Ambrose's help she'd finished. It wasn't the exact paper she meant to write, but Ambrose's insight had given her a point of orientation. He'd guided her through just enough for her not to get lost in her head. _

_That evening, after she had slept half of the day and missed a couple of lectures, she celebrated with Ambrose and cheap tequila, that had whispered in her ear that a kiss was in order and so she had planted a big one square on Ambrose's mouth. It wasn't a romantic kiss at all. With her hands she had grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed her mouth to his in a full-lipped smooch._

_Olivia was standing on tiptoes. She was tall, but he was taller. Crookedly, she grinned at him and her heels touched the ground before she let her head drop Ambrose's shoulder. Her fingers were still wrapped around his shoulders, his t-shirt crisp against her palms. It was several seconds before she picked her head back up, drunk on tequila, residual weariness and him. _

_That kiss had only lasted for a second, yet she saw a brief moment of panic flash in his eyes when their gazes met. He looked at her like she wasn't Olivia Benson but an alien. _

"_Relax," she quipped, easily. "This is just me saying thank you," she told him in a lowered voice and with intoxication-flushed cheeks. _

"_What for?" He sounded oddly insecure. _

"_Quite literally pulling my butt out of the fire. And for being the best friend I can imagine," she added. She had a handful of close friends, dozens of people she considered friends, but she is sure not one of them would have helped her putting her research in order until four in the morning and listened to the same paragraphs after minor changes over and over. _

"_Likewise," he whispered close to her ear. She could hear the smile in his words and for a second it was like she couldn't breathe. There was nothing between except friendship, and yet there was something in the moment that made Olivia pause and question her platonic feelings for him. Maybe he sensed something, because when she raised her head, his eyes looked at her quizzically. "Are you okay?" _

"_A little drunk." Thank God they were alone or else all their stupid friends would stare and question if the choir boy really didn't enjoy someone else's gospel, especially after she put her mouth on his, however innocent that was. _

"_You should probably lay off the tequila," suggested Ambrose. "Wanna lie down?" _

"_Movie?" _

"_You betcha," he agreed and as if on cue Olivia stalked over to the bed and dropped down ungraciously. "You turn on the TV." _

"_Scoot over." She did with a grunt of exhaustion, as if asking her to move was too much. Sometimes she wondered if they were too comfortable together, sharing food, drinks and beds. But then they never crossed any lines. They were always fully clothed and there was no funny business going on at all. Still she wondered, if Claire knew and more importantly, if she'd disapprove. _

_She did know they were close friends. He had mentioned her in letters and on the phone and once, after visiting her last year, he had told her how Claire had said she'd love to meet her someday. Ambrose had no ulterior motives, no matter how many times they laid in this bed, watching TV. If he had, he would have gone for it and tried his luck. He wouldn't have been the first guy who confused physical proximity with an invitation to try and get in her pants. But not Ambrose. He was the perfect gentleman and clearly not interested in her. No guy who was even the least bit tempted would have been as spooked as Ambrose over a platonic, little kiss. His integrity was one of the things she loved about him. He was real, loyal, honest. Ambrose Williams was everything Olivia needed in a friend for life. _

Her top and bottom lip align in a thin line as she gathers the courage to ask a question she didn't dare ask back then. "Do you remember that night when I kissed you?"

Olivia's cheeks flush as recognition flashes in his eyes. After a brief moment he nods his head yes. "I do."

"I hadn't even remembered until just now but you…" she smiles, trying to play it nonchalant, but the grip of her long fingers around the stem of the wine glass tightens just a little. "Seemed pretty spooked. I thought it was exaggerated enough, that you would never think I was trying to come on to you."

Ambrose comes off apprehensive as he takes a sip of wine, letting her stew in the words she'd just spoken but eventually his eyes find her, his head cocked. "I didn't think that you were."

"No?"

Ambrose took a breather, then inhaled very slowly. "No. But I was spooked. It wasn't because of that kiss, though."

"Then what?" Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at this new revelation. Whatever resolve she'd seen in him a moment ago, it was now faltering but Ambrose took the plunge anyway.

"There was a moment, really just a split second where I thought," he shakes his head, lets it hang. "I don't know what I thought, it was just a moment. Of… what ifs. Not that it meant something to me, nor did I want it to, don't get me wrong. I never wondered if under different circumstances there could have been more. Except then."

"Oh." She'd expected a lot. This was not one of the things she saw coming.

"I would never have mentioned it, Liv. I wouldn't have crossed that line with you and I didn't want you to think there was more to it than that.

"No, that's alright. Don't worry about it. I get that. I think we all wonder about… if one thing had been different? Maybe everything would have been different. Call it human curiosity." She smiles, hoping it will make Ambrose feel less uncomfortable. "Trust me, I wondered, too, once or twice. And not just with you, I still did well into my adult life." There is no doubt in Olivia's mind that for Ambrose it had been Claire, and Claire only.

"Do you think there's some kind of plan for each of us?" There's a sadness behind his eyes, showing her a version of Ambrose she hasn't seen before.

Olivia shrugs, twisting her glass on the table top. "I hope so. If there isn't, then what's the point?"

"That's one way to look at it," he replies thoughtfully. "But can we influence any of it or is it all destined?"

"I don't know," she admits. "Maybe some of it." What were the odds of them meeting again in a bar, in New York City, if destiny didn't play a role. It's a pretty thought, that there might have been some invisible string that had been there all along. Time works in wondrous ways. Maybe she was destined to be set up that night so she could walk into the bar and right into a stranger that wasn't such a stranger after all. „Part of it seems to happen with no rhyme or reason though, doesn't it?"

„Yeah. With no rhyme or reason at all," he repeated quietly. For a second Olivia thinks she saw his chin twitch with emotion, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Hastily, he drank some wine, then, as if they were still at Siena: „Movie?"

„Well," she said, her tongue clicking. „I do have Die Hard."

„Now we're talking," he smiles, his face lighting up.

…

Olivia's hands are shoved deep into the pockets of her winter coat. It's freezing cold and she has been walking twelve blocks. It takes up all of her willpower to stop her teeth from chattering. Her face is pink from the icy january air, her lips blue like the ache that has taken hold of her heart. She'd told the cab driver to let her out with enough distance to allow her to change her mind about seeing Ambrose.

Now, with his garden gate in sight, there is no turning back. The house is like a magnet, drawing her closer.

They'd found the kids. Three girls, and a little baby boy, just three, maybe four months old. They'd saved Nicky just in time. It doesn't feel like a victory, though. Not this time, even knowing these kids are safe now. Although Olivia has seen a lot in fifteen years on the job, something about this case felt particularly cruel and dark when she's seen and heard far worse. She can't make sense of that, how holding that little boy had been so heart wrenching. How does she feel so torn apart, when he'd been healthy and unharmed, when it could have been much more heartbreaking? They literally saved those kid's lives, even Baby Doe's life. It doesn't take a lot to imagine what growing up in this sort of home would have done to the boy. Lord knows, Alexa and Roger Moore would have turned that boy into a monster. But no matter how Olivia looks at it, she can't feel joyful or victorious.

She needed some distraction, which is why she left the office, realizing she couldn't go home. Nothing in particular had pulled her into Ambrose's direction, not at first. She sat in the backseat of the taxi, and all she knew was that she could go anywhere she wanted, just not home. Without thinking it through, she'd told the driver to take her to the West Village. Now here she stands, feeling the cold even in her bones, but it has little to do with the weather. She sucks in a breath that hurts in her lungs because she's just wanted to scream at the heavens since she got back to the precinct. When she exhales, her breath comes out in thick billows. The gate creaks and for a moment she falters and considers turning around to go… somewhere else. But all she really wants is him, a place to hide where it's safe and warm and where he can take some of this pain away.

Her boots make a dull sound on the pavement leading up to his front door. The lights are on, so he is home. The realization is the most comforting thing she's felt all day, so much so that emotion's almost choking her up.

Some hesitation is accompanying her still as she rings the doorbell, her heart jumping. For a moment she spaces out, gets lost in the day's events. Then she's jolted back into full consciousness when the door is being opened. She blinks at Ambrose a few times, her eyes burning.

„Olivia." She assumes he hadn't expected her, just like she hadn't expected him last night. Her heart is still pounding vigorously against her ribs. She wants a drink, and him, and not to feel this suffocating emptiness that's consuming her entire being.

„Can I come in? Please?" She sounds small. There's that fear that he could send her away. It's like she's standing on the edge of a cliff, and it's in his hand to shove her into the boisterous sea or pull her back to safety.

"Of course," he replies hurriedly, ushering her in. "You must be freezing." Olivia takes off her wool cap. Her nose is runny after getting into the warmth of the house after almost thirty minutes in the icy New York winter making up her mind about going to Ambrose's.

"A little," she says under her breath. Her fingers feel like ice blocks. She stretches them out, then makes a fist and repeats the pattern a couple of times before rubbing her palms.

"Would you like some tea? To get warm? Or coffee?"

A drink would do, she thinks. She wouldn't complain if he poured the whisky if she was going to pour her heart out to him. Before she can answer he takes her cap and scarf.

"I'm sorry, I should've called before coming here."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're always welcome, with or without notice." He helps her out of her coat and turns to hang it. Olivia bites her bottom lip and swallows, pops the buttons of her wool blazer, before bringing her stiff fingers to the small button of her blouse. She undoes the first, the second, the third and holds Ambrose's eye when he turns back around. She had vividly imagined his face before she'd seen the look of confusion. He inhales sharply when her blouse falls open to both sides, revealing a practical bra and her bare belly.

"What are you…" Words seem to fail him as he scratches his chin, helplessly and swallows so hard, she can see his Adam's apple jump. She drops the blazer first, the blouse next. The thin material slips off her shoulders and down her arms, then falls to the floor. Olivia holds his eye, sees him blur in her vision. Nimbly she undoes the belt of her black pants, audibly sliding the leather out of its metal buckle.

"I need saving tonight," she manages, just barely holding in a sob. "Please."

By not holding it together she has probably just ruined it. In the past she'd gone to a random bar to pick up some random guy to take her mind off of things but she doesn't want some random guy. She wants Ambrose's familiarity.

"Liv, what's… are you all right?" Slowly he steps closer to her.

Her hands are instantly on him, undoing his shirt as she shook her head just barely. "Not really," she confessed.

Ambrose made a sound like he was in physical pain before he gently took her wrist in his hands. "Don't," he said quietly. "I don't… I am not going to take advantage of you.

Looking up at him, Olivia swallows. "You're not. This is different," she says, her voice cracking. "I just had a shit day and need to forget." Her forehead rolls against his muscular chest as he holds her limp hands. "Just for a little while, can you help me forget? Please, Ambrose." She sounds broken, like she's coming apart at the seams. His proximity warms her body that's still stiff from cold as he wraps his arms around her and places a single kiss on top of her head.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

With her face buried in his shirt she shakes her head no. Not right now. She can't. She can't get a single word out, except another plea.

"I've got you," he mumbles soothingly, holding her tight. "I've got you."

...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes: We all know that Baby Boy Doe has had an impact on Olivia, so this chapter is really just logical. Beta'ed by Amily-thank you, love. **

**...**

Fingertips are a whisper against her skin. Breath tickles the hairline of her forehead. The uproar of emotions is running even higher now when she came here to quash them in the first place. Multiple orgasms have crushed her emotionally with an intensity that left her completely raw and vulnerable. While a whirlwind lives in her, she's perfectly still in Ambroses's arms. The covers are pulled up to her chest, covering her breasts, but just barely.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?"

Olivia's chest rises and falls, slowly, in a healthy rhythm. It contradicts how she's wrecked with tension. Sharing deeply personal aspects of her life has never come easy to her. She does it from time to time, entrusts those she cares about with her innermost thoughts and feelings. She told Elliot about her desire to be a mother. She's had this exact conversation before, so it shouldn't be too hard. But some things don't get easier just because you've been there. Hesitantly she rolls the words around in her mouth, unsure where to start, if to start at all. Every instinct within tells her to take to her heels.

"Hey." Ambrose's voice breaks the silence again, the words a careful nudge. She bends her head just enough to see him. "You can tell me, you know."

"I know." She should be able to tell him. Hell, she just slept with him, begged him to help her forget. That's more intimate than talking about why this case hit too close to home. Between the hurt and desperation she'd wanted nothing more than for him to fuck her vigorously until she could no longer feel anything but him.

He hadn't though. Fucked her. What they did was as far from raw fucking as it gets. She hadn't even been aware that she'd truly needed the opposite. She'd asked him to. She'd asked him to fuck her. Hard. And he had refused. No man in his right mind would have passed on her insecure 'You don't like it rough?'. She knows from experience. The delivery lacked alcohol. A few drinks in, she would've sounded a hell of a lot more confident about the proposition. But Ambrose had told her no, his hands cascading down her body like she was the most fragile thing he'd ever touched. She'd wanted to argue. She knew what she wanted from this, what she needed. Before she got a word in, however, he aligned his mouth with hers, whispering: "We'll do it my way." He pulled back just enough to be able to look at her and she had blinked back tears as the back of his fingers stroked the side of her upper arm. "Okay?"

There were no words on her tongue, in her head. With nothing to grasp, Olivia had merely nodded, her throat dry, her eyes burning with unshed tears that could've filled her bathtub to the brim. She'd never cried for what she'd never had. She'd never cried during sex, either, but she's pretty sure that silent tears slid down the side of her face, into her hair. His sensual touch, the story his hands told, the appreciation and attention he so lavishly indulged her body with, it all left her raw and open. The point of this was to be fucked into not feeling, not thinking, not falling apart. Now here she is, feeling so brittle, she thinks if it wasn't for her skin keeping her together, she'd shatter. Nobody has ever-ever-touched her like this. Like she's treasured and valuable. For once in her life she felt worthy.

He is waiting for an answer, Olivia realizes. Her pulse quickens and when she speaks, her voice sounds rough. "That case we've been working for the past three days?"

"You found the boy, right?" The boy. They'd found much more than they'd seen coming. The story was broadcast on every news outlet in the state. It wasn't so much Nicky's fate that had her stomach all tied up in knots. Olivia swallows.

"Yes, we did."

"Close call?" His words are compassion, his touch a gentle squeeze of consolation. He has no idea of the demons either awakens. They never lie completely dormant, pulling her apart bit by bit. They are the burn beneath every scar this job has left her with.

"It's not," Olivia starts, then sighs, bites her bottom lip. "It's not about him." Her voice is matter-of-fact. She harrumphs quietly to rid it of the emotion she feels bubbling up her throat. Her gaze, hazy but somewhat steady, falls to the nightstand, the tissue-wrapped condom on top. It stares back at her, taunts. "There were other kids," she explains. Public knowledge, she can share this much. "A baby boy among them. If I'd have to guess, probably three months old."

„Holy shit." Ambrose curses underneath his breath and the words are searing. "He okay?"

"God, yes. He's… as far as we could tell, he's just… perfect. Healthy." The damn threatens to break, her voice cracks, as does her heart. For years she's managed to shut herself down, keep the tears in. She hates that she's reaching her breaking point in someone's company. "He's fine," she manages thickly, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Which is almost a miracle for a trafficked child." They catch up to her then. All these faces of babies and toddlers she's seen over the years, some in person, way too many on film. Her body violently shudders when she fails to keep the sob in. Today she looked into those bright, blue eyes, innocent and curious. They remind her of all the little ones that had it much worse than him, so many they couldn't help, so many they had no way to track down. Him they could save. Baby Boy Doe. She'd held him, his warm, peach skin against her as she got lost in him, mesmerized by his fluffy hair and those tiny fingers that kept grasping for her thumb. She'd changed his diaper, fed him, cuddled and rocked him, and for those one and a half hours until ACS took him, she had felt complete. Out of all the little ones she'd lost, him she'd saved, and yet her heart is so, so broken for him.

Ambrose's arms tighten around her as she can hardly contain the following sobs. In this job Olivia has seen unimaginable things that people do to one another, but when it happened to kids it was especially hard. When it involves babies however-and she's seen the cruelest and most gruesome of things done to infants as young as a few days old-it was particularly soul crushing. Sometimes Olivia doesn't know how she still has faith in humanity.

"Okay. It's okay," he breathes. His knuckles dance along her skin in a soothing pattern.

"H-how do people do that? Just sell their baby for some sick bastards to do what-ever the hell they want with it? A baby," she weeps, the words staccato sounds of despair. While Baby Boy Doe, according to Alexa, was not meant to be on camera, it's not hard to imagine what fate he would have met if someone else had made the purchase. Not for a second does Olivia believe that Roger Moore randomly stumbled across an abandoned infant. She's worked in this field for too long; she is painfully aware of what is offered on the dark web.

"I don't know." Ambrose sounds helpless. She has been vague already and knows she has to be, or else images from her words alone are going to be burned into his mind forever. Those images haunt randomly, sometimes during the day but mostly at night, robbing her of peaceful sleep. They make her thoughts run in circles to the point she thinks she might go crazy. Even knowing awful things happen in the world, there are things that she just can't make sense of, things that make her physically sick. She knows her limits and it's this exact thing. Infants. "But at least he's okay, right?" he tries to put it into perspective but it was of little consolation to Olivia.

She stifles a sob and nods, gathering every bit of willpower to pull herself together and stop crying. He is okay. Between all the unspeakable things she's seen and heard in fifteen years on the job at least this little one is all right. It's not the countless victims she saved or couldn't save that she's crying for, though. It's for herself, which is selfish and honestly, it's also pathetic. She's made her choice a long time ago, and has made her job a priority over her personal life. There are regrets about that but she never had it in her to walk away from SVU, or being a cop. What else was there for her to do?

Right this moment there are children in need, children she's dedicated her life to help, and yet here she is, sobbing for something that will never be. Boo-fucking-hoo.

She kept busy when she started overthinking, whenever that ache started to throb ever so slightly. Immersing herself into work had always helped to a degree. But these dreams deferred have collided with work. The lines are blurred and she's having trouble forcing them back into their compartments.

This case has torn open wounds Olivia didn't know she still had, because there are no scars. No visible ones at least. But today, tonight, desires rose from the grave she thought she'd buried them in years ago. Of course, she hadn't been completely beyond hope until the agencies carefully and oh so tactfully explained that she wasn't prime parental material, sorry… case closed. But the years kept going by and at this point, who was she kidding, the clock was ticking. She doesn't have a partner. And, anyway, who'd want to have a child with her? A cop who works all hours? A woman in her mid-40s with the attendant risks? Someone with her hereditary demons? Who would want a child that came from and with all of that?

There is no amount of crying that is going to make her feel better. Being involuntarily childless has created a void within her that can't be filled, no matter how often she tells herself it's okay. Although she hadn't planned it, she allows Ambrose in, baring her soul.

"I always wanted it, you know? To have a child, to raise and nurture another person. I don't know if I wanted to prove I could, prove I was better than my mother, to have mothering be positive...maybe it's selfish of me. But I wanted...and…" She takes a deep breath. Exhales. "I'm not going to have that, and I've accepted that. But it was hard today...someone who had this precious boy and just...threw him to wolves."

Stating that, as if she's accepted it, sounds so nonchalant when in fact it's hell. Saying it out loud sounds like she's burying that desire, that need, that possibility. Again. She knows she will never be a mother. She can turn upside down, enact a fertility dance, apply for adoption and beg the case workers to give her a child, any child… it'll all be futile.

All of this must be a sick twist of fate when someone like Alexa got the chance to be a mother while Olivia will forever be denied. How the hell does she deserve this? Yes, she put her career first for a long time, but at thirty-five she never would have thought that she'd miss that window of opportunity if she held onto her job. And how was she supposed to walk away from the one thing she had, the one thing she knew? Being a cop was not just a career path, it was her calling. If she didn't have her badge, she wouldn't know what to do with herself. But this? God, this is not the life she had imagined for herself, either. This little boy is going to haunt all of her what ifs and remain a bleeding wound.

"And to know someone discarded what you would have cherished...that hurts."

Olivia nods just barely, shredding a breath as she inhales. "It really does."

"I'm so sorry, Liv," Ambrose murmurs, when she turns her head, as if she could hide her face in his skin.

She holds the tears and sobs back with nothing but determination, but Ambrose's delicate touch breaks through the barrier.

"I'm sorry, I'm a mess," she blubbers out as Ambrose's thumb rubs gentle circles against the patch of skin between her shoulders.

„Hey, no. Don't you ever apologize for being sad. This is a painful position to be in. I can't even imagine how it must feel, but whatever it is you feel? It's valid. And there is no right or wrong way in terms of dealing with it. It's okay for you to cry. For that little boy, for yourself," he rasps gently. „And for the injustice of it all."

„Is it, though?" She sits up and swiftly brushes the tears off of her face, making sure to keep herself covered with the sheet. „This? Me coming here? You must think I'm absolutely pathetic." Shakily, Olivia exhales and pushes a thick strand of messed up hair behind her ear. „Pathetic and pitiful. I don't even know what I was thinking…" Suddenly it's impossible to look him in the eye. For the first time since leaving the office, Olivia thinks clearly and God, what was she thinking indeed? He's just one more mistake, collateral damage if you will. „I… I should…go." The words come out at just above a whisper, fragile and fractured. They barely are spoken when she scoots away from Ambrose.

„Hey now, wait. You don't…" When she doesn't stop, but swings her legs out of bed as gracefully as possible after her humiliation, he's out of bed, too. „Olivia, don't do this."

„Do what?" Comes her frustrated reply. With the sheet clutched to her chest she picks up her underwear.

„Don't shut me out."

„I'm not," she says and pauses briefly. „At least I'm not trying to."

„Stay." He is walking closer towards her, not bothered that he isn't covered.

„Look, I just want… I am fully aware that I made an idiot of myself, so let me hold on to the last shred of dignity and go home." She looks at him now, feeling helpless and defenseless.

„How do you think you made an idiot of yourself?"

She stares at him with a blank expression, her panties a ball of fabric in her fist, and shrugs. There's a thing or two that come to mind but she'll be damned before saying them out loud.

"You didn't. You're not a fool for wanting things. And it's okay that you came here wanting."

„I don't know what the hell I wanted! I don't even know what the hell made me think it was a good idea to come here," she retorts. „It's like me, though. I'm good at ruining things."

„You're catastrophizing, Liv. Can you just take a deep breath and actually hear what I say, not what you think I say?"

„I hear you…"

„Do you?" He takes one step closer. „Don't go. You don't need to be alone. We can talk, or if you'd rather just sit in silence… we can do that, too. And just to even the playing field? You're not the first and only person that tried to fill a void with sex. It can work, to a degree although it's temporary."

„Then why do I feel worse?"

„Because while it can work? Often enough it doesn't." He sounds like he knows what he's talking about, like he's been there. She hates that for him, because Ambrose of all people shouldn't feel that way. "You can't really trick your feelings, not for long anyway." He reaches for the back of her neck when she lowers her head in defeat, pulling her against him with ease, breathing a sigh of relief when she allows it.

She's acted out of habit tonight. Normally she would have ended up at a bar, falling into several shots to take the edge off before allowing some overeager guy to take her home. This time she's come to Ambrose, though. "What is wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you," he murmurs, slipping his arms around her body. "You're hurting. And there's not really anything you can do that will have bearing on the situation, so it's more than okay to feel everything you feel. Sadness, hopelessness, anger, regret."

"But how? I made that choice. To put my job first and not have children. I screwed up all of my relationships. This is on me, so how do I get to be angry or have regrets?"

"Being passionate about your job doesn't equal deciding against children. I'm sure it wasn't that simple. It sounds like a confluence of unfortunate circumstances, Liv. And no matter the decisions and sacrifices you made at the time, you get to have regrets and you can damn well be angry. You didn't ask for this, I don't think."

Olivia exhales heavily, almost too tired to pick her head back up to look at him. "Do you have regrets? Things you wish you would have done differently?"

"A million," he says without hesitation, his eyes clouding with sadness. „And I had my questionable moments, so when I say there's no reason for you to feel even an ounce of humiliation, trust me, it's within reason." A small smile lifts the corners of his mouth. „I'm glad you came here. No matter the alternative, I'm glad you're here."

„So much for saying we'd better not do this again," she scoffs quietly.

„To be fair, you said that. I was very much open to the idea," he grins and attaches his mouth to her forehead for a simple, short kiss.

Olivia purses her lips, looking thoughtful and exhausted. „I must look a mess."

„You look fine."

If puffy from crying translates to looking fine, that might be true. However, she doubts it.

„This isn't my brightest hour. I'm sorry for my crazy… or whatever it is. It's been a rough day." And quietly she adds: „I wasn't planning for things to go like this."

"You weren't planning on being human? Having feelings and strong reactions to life's disappointments?" Ambrose's voice is light as he nudges her gently. "You're such an overthinker, Olivia Benson."

"Rational," she tries. "And I didn't know that's a bad thing."

"There's nothing rational about feelings. So don't listen to your head telling you that this was all a bad idea and you should get the hell out. Get back into bed. I'll get us a drink, whatever you're in the mood for. It's late anyway."

"It's not that late," she argues weakly, looking up at him through long lashes and a haze of embarrassment.

"Late enough. See exhibit A," he smiles and gestures towards the balcony. "It's dark."

"It's January, it's legitimately dark at four," she says along with a laugh that rumbles within her. The sadness weighs a little lighter for the moment as he touches her shoulders and turns her towards the bed. The sheet is still wrapped around her, and the fabric twists around her hips with the movement.

"Bourbon okay?" He's giving her little choice, and while she'd kick any other man in the balls, she allows it with Ambrose. Beneath her skin the truth whispers that she knows why. She doesn't want to go. Not yet. Maybe not until morning.

"Yes," she gives in, headed for the comfort and warmth of his bed. "Can you bring my bag, though? Just in case work calls."

"You got it." He places a kiss at the base of her neck, right between her shoulders. It lasts only for a second and yet it ignites her from within and makes her feel something she can't place. It feels funny and beautiful but wildly unfamiliar. His bare feet make short, dull sounds on the floorboards as he leaves the room to get them a drink. She sits down on the edge of the bed, the side she occupied on the two occasions she lay in it, and looks around.

This room is light. She imagines sunlight bursting through the windows on summer mornings, falling right onto the bed and Ambrose's face, painting those golden hues that makes his skin tone one of a kind. In her an urge spreads. She wants to wake up to it. To the early morning sun kissing his face and painting pictures on his skin. She doesn't understand it, it just is what it is. Right now she's too exhausted to even question it.

He returns with the Bourbon. It's smooth and rich, leaving honey undertones on her tongue and warmth in her belly. That carrousel of unwanted thoughts slows down and she settles into the pillows.

They are arm to arm in the middle of this big bed. It reminds her of her old college bunk, that didn't allow for anything else than being huddled together like this. Both of Olivia's hands are wrapped around the tumbler as it sits on her sheet-covered tummy.

"Tell me about your day." She sounds like she's deep in thought when in truth she is just focused on the amber liquid rippling against the glass with her even breathing pattern.

The pillow rustles with the movement of his head as he turns it to look at her. "Scheduled appointments for work. Booked my flights 'til… June," he says easily, at which she turns to look at him. She hates the idea of him leaving the country because it will keep her from seeing him. Being able to stop by for no reason at all gives her a feeling of freedom, maybe even belonging. They don't even see each other all that much, and yet she wants the liberty to do so whenever she pleases.

_Interesting, _she thinks.

With Elliot she used to have that. She could have called him whenever, wherever, knowing he would have been there. Not that she lightly made use of it, seeing he had a family at home, but she liked knowing that she was someone's priority in a way. There had been no job keeping them apart. In fact the job was what kept them tied together, in the best, sometimes in the worst way.

And then she remembers why wanting and needing is always a double edged sword because eventually he left. Elliot left the force, left her, left everything she thought they were and would survive-bullets, knives and even retirement. But damn, had she been wrong. It was one more lesson learned-never to depend, never to ache. Never to feel too comfortable and safe. With anyone.

Even Elliot had gone, leaving her behind cut open and bleeding. All attempts at making peace have failed, because how do you truly move on without answers, without closure? To this day she misses him in her bones.

Now here she is, craving that same closeness with someone else, someone who had once, all these years ago, disappointed her, too. Probably it's a good thing that she can't rely on him at all times.

"Long trips?"

"Four, five days mostly. I'm trying not to go more than once a month and cram everything into a work week. It's gonna make for long days but I hope it'll spare me a trip."

"Think that's gonna work out?"

In his semi-upright position he takes a sip from his glass and shrugs. "I hope so. Prospectively I want to travel less, and spending five, maybe six days a month in London once seems doable and less taxing than doing the trip twice. At least in theory."

"Do you miss it? London, I mean?" He sounds like he does, and she wonders if it's the city itself that's an ongoing ache within him, or if it's the circumstances surrounding his move-those she believes must exist apart from his daughter's decision to study here. By the way his eyes gloss over with a mist of reflectiveness, Olivia thinks she's hit a nerve. He doesn't take his eyes off of her, but it seems he's looking right through her instead of at her.

"I miss some things about it," he finally gives his reply that he must have thought out well, seeing he took his time with it.

"Like?"

Ambrose exhales heavily, tosses back the rest of his bourbon and shakes his head. "Hard to explain." He plasters a smile on his face that wraps around the feeling of having been rebuffed like a bandaid. She soothes what remains of the sting with alcohol. There are things he doesn't tell her, something she understands better than he knows. Maybe it's a conversation to be had with more trust, or maybe he just doesn't want to be reminded. Some things can't be fixed with time, and there's not always enough liquor to make it stop hurting, either.

"One more?" Ambrose directs a nod at her now emptied tumbler. Olivia weighs her options. She has nowhere to be early in the morning. After working this case for three days straight they each deserve a day off, starting with her and with Amanda who has stuck around with her all three days into the late evening to get the paperwork sorted. What's keeping her? It's not like it's going to strip away her inhibitions and make her sleep with him. She's already done that. Twice. At the thought she can hardly suppress a laugh bubbling up. In her defense, the sex was worth coming back for. She notices his gaze has shifted towards her face, waiting for an answer.

She does want another, she decides, realizing she feels much more comfortable and not quite as sad as before. The ache is no longer an ongoing, hollow drone within her. It comes and goes in waves now. It's more manageable, because at least it doesn't feel like she's going to burst into tears again.

It might be the sex, or just his proximity. It might be the things he said that put things into perspective enough for her to not feel like her childlessness is all on her due to wrong priorities and giving up on the men she's dated too easily.

"Yeah, why not," she smiles.

…

The rhythmic inhale and exhale of Olivia's breath is the only sound in the room he perceives. He's focused on every nuance of it. The almost imperceptible rise and fall of the covers, the gentleness of the airflow through her nose. The occasional smack of her lips followed by a sharp, staccato breath she sucks in, which is, hands down, the most adorable thing he's heard in many years. He can see the outlines of her body crass against the almost full moon. His heart swells at the image. In his mind he can still hear her broken words from before. He knows this pain, the sort that can't be quenched. God, does he know what it feels like to want something so much that it hurts, knowing it's utterly hopeless.

While he doesn't know the first thing about Olivia in terms of reproductive health, he is aware that for a single woman in her mid-forties and a very demanding job the probability of having a baby is rather slim, artificial insemination and shady business like sperm theft aside.

_It may not be as hopeless as wishing for Claire to come back,_ it roars in Ambrose's head. But he guesses it's actually quite close. How fucked up.

It's been hours, yet the longing and pain in her voice still make his veins feel like they're strung to the breaking point. He is acutely aware that there must be horrific details surrounding these cases of child trafficking. Olivia didn't need to say that out loud, it was all there in her rigid body, in her strangled voice, in the subtle, trembling undertones. She must have seen things on this job that he can't even begin to imagine, which is scary as hell. It also makes him wonder how this woman has kept her sanity. Fifteen years of this shit, he thinks. Good gracious.

It makes him wonder, all of a sudden, how many nights she came home to no one. To an empty apartment and daunting silence that allowed the horrors of the day to haunt her. At the cusp of her breaking point, how many times had Olivia been alone with no one even trying to help hold her together? How does any human live like this, with all the fractured pieces that can't be discarded because they are part of her?

It seems selfish to be relieved that people like him won't ever be confronted with the darkness of Olivia's reality. Of these children's realities.

He swallows hard at that and thanks God for people like her. People who give more than they've got. To him it sounds like a bad deal, but he knows she lives for this job. For justice. For those she gets to save, even when there are terrible losses.

It makes him physically sick to think she blames herself for not having kids. That she's suffering for sacrificing in order to help others. Jesus, it's not like at some point she stood at the crossroads, one sign left, one sign right. ←_Lonely Workaholic City...Motherhood Town →_

He wishes he could have said something more profound when her self-doubt spilled all over him. He was at a loss, too, struggling to at least get her to stay. To not be alone. Her eyes, glossed over with emotion and fatigue, almost made him wince.

She came, telling him she needed saving. He didn't save her, though. He doesn't think he could have. He'd given her his time, his gentleness, his body, his words that aren't half as wise as he wishes they were. He'd given her a drink and a safe space in his arms and his bed. But the one thing he thinks he needs, he can't give her. Peace.

She's sleeping peacefully, but underneath her skin the same desires remain. He's a temporary bandage, which doesn't seem like enough.

He drinks in the sight of her, hair sprawled all over his pillow. The moon is so bright tonight, he can make out every nuance of Olivia's face when only he focuses enough.

Another smack of the lips. This time she doesn't just suck in a breath, she snores instead, staccato as well. He can hardly contain himself, trying not to laugh out loud. A stifled chuckle makes it through his nose. When she opens her eyes and blinks a few times, he stops dead, looking at her. She's looking back, but it seems she doesn't see him.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, turning onto his side, so he faces her fully. Slowly her eyes slip closed and she exhales before she mumbles.

"Cold."

The sheet is wrapped around her chest but doesn't cover her arms. He reaches out, finding her skin chilled.

"Come 'ere then," he whispers, scooting closer. He lifts the sheet, covers the both of them up properly. Beneath the duvet he pulls her against him with ease and slips his arm around her middle. "That better?"

It sounds like she's perfectly content with the proximity, the warmth he offers, because her body molds to his like they belong, and she sighs. "Hmmmph."

He already knows that her perfume in his pillows will make his head spin for weeks to come. Olivia Benson will be the only thing on his mind when he's desperately going to try and sleep. The sweet scent of white-whatever-flowers will make him breathe in and breathe out quickly, unable to get enough of it. Until he gives in and washes his sheets, she's going to be his cocoon, making him come undone and keep him together at the same time.

He'd thought about it. Her back here, in his bed with him. He'd fantasized about her in ways he hasn't about any live woman in… too damned long. At first it startled him but then, after the initial what-the-actual-fuck-moment, he'd realized it's healthy. Healthier than fantasizing about his dead wife for sure. Although they were flirtatious on the phone, and a little ambiguous in texts, Ambrose hasn't expected she'd want to come back.

His hand slips to the small of her back, his fingers gently pressing into her skin, as if that could keep her here beyond the morning. He imagines how this need to touch her, just touch her here, like this, so innocently, bleeds into her. That wondrously, she'll want it, too.

It's been so long since he's felt something so overwhelming and intense, such a sense of belonging and slowly he starts to crave it during lonely evenings in this otherwise empty house. He doesn't need love, he tells himself. Just… this. Someone to be with. Warmth. Closeness. A bond he can't put into words. For years he's been looking for this when he took a woman home for a night, yet he never found any purpose in it beyond a mediocre orgasm.

Licking his lips he breathes her in again. She smells of flowers, sweat and sex, a heady combination that's mind-boggling. Strangely addictive, too. This isn't about orgasms, it flashes through him. He has no regrets about the sex, he'd do it all again in a heartbeat. But he'd also be perfectly happy with this. Her in his arms, sleeping. Somehow, since the first time, his bed hasn't felt the same. Not quite right. Never really comfortable.

Maybe, he thinks, it's not her but all the times he's failed to be honest with her causing this lack of comfort. She's asked if he missed London, and he knew the answer in a flash. _I miss what it used to mean to me. When Claire was still here, when we were a family. When I was truly happy. _

And yet he couldn't say any of it except it's hard to explain. It isn't. Not at all. What's hard is to rip the bandaid off and actually speak the words out loud. That Claire died of cancer. That a part of him went with her.

Also, she didn't come here to hear about his loss. She was here about hers, and he wasn't going to be dismissive and make it about his pain. Eventually all the times he didn't tell her are going to catch up to him but he clings to the firm belief that it was never the right moment, well aware that it won't get easier.

A puff of her breath hits his nose, takes his mind off of his untold truths. His face is too close to hers so she's a blur in his vision.

It occurs to him then, that maybe they are the same. Just as lonely, searching for something, someone. Two ships in the night, lost. He swallows thickly, thinking maybe they are not ships. Maybe they are each other's lighthouse, a guide to safety. When they are together like this, he hopes they can be okay.

At least for a little while.


End file.
